


A Quiet Chaos

by Yeah_JSmith



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Badass Nick, Dark Comedy, Detectives, F/M, Gen, Murder, Organized Crime, So many tropes, badass Judy, ended up being a light subversion, fluffy friendship, like maybe don't read if you're squeamish, neither are mobsters, serial killers are not glamorous, serious violence, was supposed to be a parody, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-26 01:16:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 139,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9855623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeah_JSmith/pseuds/Yeah_JSmith
Summary: Nothing good comes for free. Mr. Big cashes in the favor Judy didn’t know she owed him. One year later, lives and uncomfortable truths begin to unspool when she and Nick are assigned to a special unit in zoicide...specifically, the one in charge of finding the elusive serial killer, Jack Savage.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Little favors from a mob boss don't come without a price. Here’s my take on how, in a universe with actual consequences, Judy's ties to Big could play out.
> 
> Chapter facts: Mr. Big's given name is Paul Largo, because I love Repo! The Genetic Opera, and in it, Rotti Largo is played by Paul Sorvino. Also, this will be the only chapter in Judy's point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to point out that this is a story that allows me to make fun of all the tropes I think are stupid or gross. Although it obviously plays with realism and the _characters_ take themselves seriously, the writing's interspersed with heavy doses of whatthefuckery and a little bit of genre savvy in both main characters.

There were three things that very few mammals knew about Judy Hopps. The first, and least important, was what, exactly, had happened to make Gideon Grey hate her so much. The second was that she had been given extra training in the Police Academy, which was the reason it had taken her two years instead of one to complete. The third was that she was absolutely not a nice animal.

Oh, sure, she was generally empathetic, and she believed that given the chance, mammals would do the right thing. She believed in justice. She believed the pursuit of justice could and would make the world a better place. The truth of it, though, was that in the ring and in the field, the adrenaline from fights and pursuits was tantamount to a drug. Judy had the ability to turn off her abundant compassion and go at the problem with tunnel vision, emerging victorious at the other end. Coach Clawson at the ZPA had seen it and selected her for a special training program. Mr. Big had seen it and selected her for something else entirely.

The truth of it was that you didn’t say no to Paul Largo, not when he was acting as Mr. Big.

“I can’t,” she told him, trying not to let a pleading tone into her voice. “It’s...it’s not right.”

“It was not right to ask me to threaten the weasel, my child,” he reminded her, gentle tone covering up ruthless grit, “but I honored your request, all those years ago. Now, it’s time you honored mine.”

She took a deep breath, held it, and released it. “Why wait until now?”

His smile was so cold she felt it in her belly. “You weren’t ready. You could not have done what I ask of you. Now, you can.”

“And...what will happen if I say no? I’m not saying no, I’d just like an answer.”

“Just like your Nicky,” he replied. “So much like him, contingencies and loopholes all stored in your head. Nothing will happen to _you,_ my child. You’re the godmother to my granddaughter. I couldn't bear to take away such happiness. But there are other ways to make you comply. Maybe I send a car around to pick up an old employee. Maybe he doesn’t make it. Maybe you find his body in the wreckage of his friend’s van, or you don’t find his body at all. Maybe there is suddenly evidence that this old employee, this fox, is dirty. Maybe this old employee finds his mother in a pool of her own blood, and he is so devastated that he shoots himself. Maybe none of this happens. You’re welcome to take that risk.”

She felt her knees shaking, ready to give under her weight. This was not some diminutive figure whose power and influence she didn’t understand. This was not the affable family shrew who trusted her to keep Fru-Fru and Little Judy safe on their outings. This was not someone she could threaten, fight, or intimidate, because it wasn’t her life and well-being on the line this time.

 _Bastard,_ she wanted to spit, but she couldn’t. Instead, she bowed her head and asked, “Who?”

“Malcolm Coates."

Well, at least it was a disgusting waste of space and not someone decent. Malcolm Coates was a monster with a taste for flesh and fear, and if Mr. Big wanted him out of the way, she had a few resources she could tap.

Still, it felt like death when she told him, “Understood. I won't let you down, Mr. Big."

"I know you won't," he said, and that was what hurt most of all.


	2. One Year Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy's acting pretty weird about their new case, but Nick knows all too well why she's keeping secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Fangmeyer, the use of they/them is deliberate. I can't imagine that a movie dealing with racism, classism, and intersectional theory in general would have a closed-minded fandom, but this is the obligatory warning for a nonbinary character.
> 
> Chapter facts: rabbits can hear and see up to a couple of miles away, but the hearing range is only that long for higher tones. Because these animals are anthropomorphic, I'm moving the hearing range to tones perceived by human ears.

Life, Nick reflected, moved on. Five years prior, he’d still been in shock at the idea of being an actual police officer, and now, he was a zoicide detective. It seemed a little fast, all things considered, but Bogo had explained that there were mitigating factors. Politics was a big one; City Hall wanted more visibility of a successful predator-prey partnership and the public wanted small mammal representation. Another big one was that Nick and Judy had been a pain in the Chief’s tail since the beginning, and they always ended up stumbling into big cases anyway, so they might as well be authorized to investigate them.

Yes, life moved on, and he liked the direction it was moving in. Even if it meant getting up extra early to collect an assignment from Captain Fangmeyer, the head of zoicide.

The main briefing room was bigger than the one in his new division. The ZPD may have been comically understaffed, but they _did_ have separate divisions for zoicide, vice, and major crimes; small divisions with only a few members each, but divisions nonetheless. Lieutenant Wolford headed vice with a crotchety iron paw, and the mammals from major crimes tended not to socialize with the rest of the force, so Nick counted himself lucky to have a tiny staff room if it meant working under Quinn Fangmeyer. As a direct superior, they were fairly lenient, and they had a dark sense of humor that matched his own.

He was the first one in, but Judy soon jogged in to join him at the back by the megafauna-sized filing cabinet. It was silly, but even after five years as an officer, Nick still preferred to keep his back to the wall and his nose to the wind. Judy, bless her, never asked, merely joined him in his shadowy little creeper corner and brightened the space around them.

“Hey, Nick,” his partner said, looking up at him. Her smile was always so sweet, like she was genuinely pleased to see him every time. Maybe she was. As good at reading mammals as Nick had always been, Judy was still something of an oddity. She was pleasant and happy to help, until the rare times in which she _wasn’t,_ and she’d get a funny look in her eye…

But not today. “Morning, Carrots.”

She hopped on her toes a little so that she could nudge him in the abdomen without lifting her elbow in an awkward angle. He had noticed behaviors like this – the way she would jump before speaking excitedly, the way she _literally_ used other mammals as stepping stones during training – and pieced together that she still felt the need to compete, even after fostering decent working relationships with the rest of their fellow officers. Her size would always be a factor in how others saw her. Another was her nose, which twitched erratically even when she was calm, making her look much daintier than she was. It was twitching now, moreso than ever. “Did you get coffee on the way here?”

“Nope. I’m officially cutting back. I’m pushing forty. Rumor has it funny things happen in old brains.”

“That’s why you smell different,” she concluded, leaning back on her heels. “And you’re not old, Nick. You’re not allowed to get old.”

Against the potted plant, which was taller than they both were, she looked radiant. Her gray fur looked soft and inviting. He looked away, angry with himself for noticing. For a lot of reasons, Judy was off-limits. The most important reason was that she was his _best friend,_ someone important to him, a staple in his life. Her friendship was worth the world, and he wasn’t going to rut up what they had just for the possibility of kissing her or whatever else came with a capital-R Relationship. He wasn’t really sure what those entailed, anyway; he’d never had one. Never been interested, until now. It had always felt like something Other Mammals did because they were unsatisfied with their lives.

But he wasn’t unsatisfied. On the contrary; he’d never been happier.

“All right, Mistress Carrots,” he told her, edging away slowly enough that it wouldn’t look obvious. “Do you know what all the fuss is about? It’s not every day they tell us to come in for a secret meeting.”

“I’m sure it’s a new case, but I’ve no idea what it could be. Just as long as they don’t try to move us to major crimes, I’ll be happy with whatever.”

Major crimes was a sticky subject. Chief Bogo knew enough about Nick’s story to piece together the kinds of things he’d had to do to survive once he’d gotten onto Mr. Big’s radar, but fortunately, he had always stayed on the periphery. Important enough to invite to dinner, but not important enough to warrant hired guns when he messed up. The skunk-butt rug incident was actually hilarious, in retrospect, but Judy’s ties to the crime boss were much less funny. Nick wasn’t sure if she knew just _how_ potentially damaging her relationship with the Largos could be, but Mr. Big seemed happy enough to let her play bodyguard to his daughter and granddaughter.

If anyone ever put two and two together, Judy was finished. _That,_ at least, she did know, and they made sure to stay far away from major crimes despite knowing that otherwise, they’d do well in that department.

“But what if it’s a serial killer?” He grimaced. “I hate those.”

“We’ve never actually worked a serial killer case,” she reminded him, leaning lightly against his side. He relished the contact and hated that he did. “MBI usually snatches those up. Could be interesting.”

“Or deadly. What is it with you and risking our necks?”

“Aww, come on, don’t tell me you’ve never thought about catching a serial killer!”

He rolled his eyes and wished for coffee. “Yeah, usually in conjunction with _oh god please no.”_

“Seriously?”

He frowned and looked down at her. Sometimes her height made him worry that he came across as condescending – the way they both did on occasion when they thought they were right – so he changed the frown to a genial smile. No reason to frown at her, anyway; it was just a question. “They teach us at the ZPA that serial killers are dangerous mostly because they tend to be sociopaths. They see us as objects, not animals. That means it’s morally okay to kill _us_ if we’re on their trail, right? Unlike the usual reprobates we deal with, the angry ones or the druggies, they can’t be talked down with reason or even with an appeal to emotion. If it comes to a standoff with a serial killer and you can’t get close enough to disarm them, your only option is to shoot. I’ve made it through my whole career without having to shoot someone. I’d kind of like to keep it that way.”

He could feel his ears flatten against his head and shifted uncomfortably at the thought. It wasn’t that he was inherently against the firearms detectives carried, but he’d spent the past five years atoning for the things he’d done, intentionally or otherwise, to harm other mammals. In a choice between his partner’s life and some schmuck’s, he knew who he’d choose in a heartbeat, but he’d still feel a little bad about it.

“Pacifist,” she teased, sticking out her little tongue. Everything about her was so _little._ Sometimes he got complacent, forgot that she could probably bench press him if called upon to do so, and then she’d do something innocuous like yank just a tad too hard on his arm or his tie.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Call me when _you_ feel comfortable giving animals a lead enema. Oh, heads up, Fangmeyer incoming,” he told her, smelling the tiger in the hallway.

The door opened and in walked the Captain. Quinn Fangmeyer was an impressive tiger, something like twice Nick’s height and built like a steel door. Assuming, of course, that doors had claws filed into neat points and fangs that looked like they ought to drip poison. They had no problem baring those fangs, either, when it was necessary. Growing up nominally predator – though omnivorous, foxes had sharp teeth and non-retractable claws, so the fact that most enclaves had gone almost completely vegetarian was ignored in favor of obvious traits – had taught Nick to hide. He hid his teeth when he smiled, laughed with his muzzle tipped downward, used humor like a shield to make himself look nonthreatening. Fangmeyer had no such reservations, preferring to look as intimidating as possible.

Nobody lied to Captain Fangmeyer.

“Hopps. Wilde. Good,” they said, clapping once. The crack was sharp in the air. Nick was reminded, once again, that he was the second-smallest mammal on the force, and his superior officers could flatten him with a single swipe. “You have a new case.”

“Why the secrecy,” he asked, only mildly curious. For him, work wasn’t the constant adventure it seemed to be for Judy; instead, Nick was more focused on building a legacy. He was the first fox officer, and that meant a lot of things to young kits and the future of the ZPD. Curiosity, these days, took a backseat to resignation and determination. “Not that I’m complaining, but why can’t we discuss this in front of the other officers?”

They tapped a single claw on the table behind them, seeming to chew on the answer before saying it. “This case is delicate. Truth be told, I don’t want you on it, but you’re the only ones who can handle this quietly.”

Nick raised a brow. Subtlety was an art, but you didn’t get to be a detective without proficiency. He wondered if he ought to remind them that on Judy’s first case, they’d crashed a _train._

Judy took the opportunity out of his paws. “Does this involve small mammals, then?”

“Yes. Maybe.” Fangmeyer clenched their paw. “Look, this is sort of unofficial because we have no _proof,_ but the Chief gave me some leeway. All sorts of mammals are turning up dead. In their homes, in alleyways, and at first we just assumed they were unconnected, because they have no connection...but we’ve started to see a method in the madness. Maybe there’s no link between the victims, but the deaths are too clean to be crimes of passion, and we’ve noticed a pattern in the causes of death. And now, we’ve got reports coming in. I don’t know how reliable these so-called eyewitnesses are, but we’ve got a name.”

“Anybody we’d know?”

“Probably not. This suspect goes by Jack Savage. The only thing eyewitnesses can agree on is that he’s a white rabbit and carries a sidearm. Considering how difficult it is for a citizen to get one, you can bet it’s unregistered. The guy’s a ghost, but so far, he’s got at least nineteen kills under his belt.”

“Well, scat,” said Nick, summing up the whole situation.

Judy’s brow furrowed as she asked, “How did we get the name? I mean wouldn’t this creep just kill any eyewitnesses?”

_Clunk._

“One of our sources heard him answer his phone, so they got his surname from that. Another source saw him meeting with some kind of feline wearing a hood who called him Jack. To be honest, we’re not sure his name _is_ Jack Savage at all, or that the two bunnies are the same guy. No offense, Hopps, but most mammals have trouble telling bunnies apart even during daylight hours. There aren’t any prints at the crime scenes, there aren’t any logical motives for the murders...nothing makes sense. But I know we have a case here. And, well, Hopps, you’re uniquely qualified for this assignment.”

“Jack Savage,” Judy said, testing the name on her tongue. “I’m okay with looking into him on the sly, if that’s what you want.”

_Clunk._

“I had every confidence that you would. I’ll get Porcino to give you the case files from records.”

“Thanks, Captain” said Nick, but his eyes were on his partner.

Judy didn’t have tells, not in the traditional sense. She lied so rarely that any alteration of behavior would be chalked up to embarrassment or absentmindedness – _dumb bunny_ would haunt her forever, he was sure – but after six years of knowing each other and five years of partnership, Nick knew when she was lying. He felt it in his chest, just even with his diaphragm, a little _clunk_ where the lack of connection was. Most of their coworkers assumed that Judy was the heart and Nick could just read mammals, because of _course_ foxes would be less than empathetic, but in truth, it was the opposite. Where Judy often needed things pointed out to her, things like tone and intent, Nick had a keen sense of empathy. It was why she had so much faith in mammals and he...didn’t.

Judy was spared the worst of it, but Nick couldn’t just read mammals, he _knew_ them. Judy could accept and believe a lie because she often couldn’t tell the difference. Nick always had to decide whether or not the lie was worth uncovering.

When he knew that Fangmeyer was well out of range, he placed his paws on her shoulders and asked quietly, “What’s going on, Carrots?”

“I don’t want this case,” she told him just as quietly, bringing her own paws up to rest on his forearms. It felt weirdly intimate, but she didn’t seem to be bothered. He wondered, briefly, if perhaps he was overthinking everything.

“I thought you were interested in a serial killer case.”

“Not _this_ one. I’ve heard the name before.”

Nick frowned, trying to remember whether or not he had. He hadn’t. “Where?”

“Our friends in Tundratown talk about him sometimes,” she admitted. “I don’t ask questions and they don’t lie to me.”

“And you can’t pass on this information because…?”

“Come on, Nick, don’t play stupid. You’re the smartest mammal I know. Sure, I pass on a whisper, and then by some crazy coincidence, all my loved ones have accidents. Once upon a time, I didn’t understand what I was getting into, and it cost me. Paul doesn’t expect me to be the cop in his pocket, but if I don’t stay out of his business…”

“...Then he’ll stop staying out of yours,” he finished, a surge of irritation passing through him. Judy had been no better than a kit when she arrived in Zootopia, wide-eyed and naive. Mr. Big had taken advantage of that, and now, Judy was so deep in the family that she was allowed to call him by his given name. It was the way business was done, but that didn’t make it any less unfair. “Do you know anything about the guy? Is he a family asset? A contractor?”

“I know Jack Savage doesn’t officially exist. I checked,” she told him, “and it’s not like I’ve asked Paul about his assets, but I think if Savage were one, we wouldn’t have heard his name at all.”

“So he sometimes works for the Big operation and might be an actual serial killer. That’s just brilliant. But...we can work with that.”

Judy grinned, despite everything. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He shook his head. “First tell me why you’re smiling. This is _serious.”_

“This is my favorite part,” she confided. “Watching you get into it. You’re clever, Nick. I like cleverness. So tell me what’s going on in that big brain of yours.”

His heart pounded with the thrill of her flattery. He knew she would pick up on it with those big ears of hers and watched her for any clues of discomfort, but she didn’t show any, so he nodded and told her, “Our job is to catch the killer, Jack Savage. We don’t have to involve Mr. Big at all in our official findings. In fact, I suspect it’ll tie things up nicely for _him_ if we do, and then he’ll owe _us._ Mr. Big likes order in his operations. I doubt he’s very pleased that someone he contracts with is taking outside jobs.”

“We don’t know that he is.”

“You could just ask. Off the record. Dress it up as a concerned family friend willing to do him a favor.”

“I think that’s our best bet, even if I’m not excited to do it. I’d invite you, but it’s probably best if one of us has plausible deniability.”

_Clunk._

“Seriously? Plausible deniability?”

She looked away, foot tapping. “And maybe I’m feeling a little protective, but don’t make a thing of it.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her. This amazing mammal didn’t just respect him as her partner, she _cared_ for him. Even after six years, the occasional reminder always came as a surprise. He’d spent the majority of his life avoiding conflict or pretending not to notice the slurs and verbal degradation. He didn’t show how much it hurt when witnesses saw him in uniform and still assumed he was illiterate. He hadn’t even fought back during Bellwether’s regime when prey mammals thought it was perfectly okay to gang up on him and kick him around a little. But there Judy was, a little bundle of dynamite putting herself between him and any perceived threats. God, he loved that bunny.

Still, he had to point out, “I _can_ take care of myself.”

“That’s never been in question. Actually, that’s not true. Before the Academy, that was _definitely_ in question. Now...I trust you to have my back, but that doesn’t mean I want you to get hurt. You’re a good cop. If this backfires on me, I don’t want you to go down too.”

“I get it. I’m not mad, I promise. I’ve got your back, Carrots, in whatever way you need.”

She wouldn’t get the intimation. That was as much his fault as it was hers. But he knew what she meant, and he’d said what he wanted to say, and together, they would solve the case. Jack Savage – or whatever his real name was – would go down.

* * *

Porcino’s parting comment, that Captain Fangmeyer must want Nick and Judy dead, had not been particularly reassuring, but Nick could see the reason the boar might say that. “Savage” was an apt descriptor for the nineteen kills. The crime scene photographs were gory as all get-out. Still, he could see what Fangmeyer had meant when they’d said it was all too clean. Despite the gore and severed body parts, there was (according to the case files) nothing to suggest another mammal had even been there.

“Yeesh. It looks like torture,” he commented. For convenience’s sake, he and Judy were sharing a large chair in a secluded office. Generally, they worked from a shared cubicle, but the Captain wanted them to keep their investigation quiet and had assigned them their own space for the time being.

“Savage is good at his job,” she replied, and was that a hint of admiration in her voice? Creepy. Understandable, after everything they’d seen and her fondness for slasher flicks, but still creepy. “It doesn’t look like a hit, though. The scene might be relatively tidy, but a hit would be an execution, not a gorefest.”

“Unless the point is to make it look like it’s _not_ a hit. Mammals start dropping like flies execution-style, major crimes starts sniffing around. Mammals die messily and in different ways, zoicide steps in with the wrong impression. Looking at this without a suspect name, would you really think of these as mob hits?” He frowned. “Actually, I want to know who made the connection, and how. _This_ one – Callum Furris – looks like he was clawed to death by a small mammal. Rachel Cowlich was shot through the mouth, like a staged suicide. Jenna Gnudeau had her paws removed and her eyes gouged out pre-mortem. You have the investigating officer’s notes. Can you see why they think these are connected?”

Judy skimmed the report for Furris with a frown. “Yeah, it says here that there are four distinct causes of death that line up chronologically. Bullet, dismemberment, claws, knife. Bullet, dismemberment, claws, knife. There are a few missing, but they think it’s because they haven’t found the bodies, not because it’s not a pattern. Each type of murder was done by the same weapon; the bullets are from the same gun, the limbs were severed by what they think is a machete, the claw marks are identical, and the blade used to gut the vics is the same size and shape. What really tipped them off is that the last dismemberment they found had traces of DNA from the second-to-last in the wounds. Huh. Savage must have made a mistake.”

“Or, if these are all hits, Mr. Big is setting him up to get caught. He’d be handing his tools in for someone else to clean. Thankfully I never had to do that, because I was just a broker, but I saw muscle bring in tools. Having a separate cleaner adds another layer of protection for the hitter, or allows Mr. Big to set them up if he’s displeased.”

Judy’s ears shot up and her nose twitched. “He’d do that?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s not someone you want to mess around with. It’s a good thing you’re friends with his daughter.”

She laughed hollowly. “Yeah, good thing. So you...saw a lot of business, then?”

He shrugged, looking over Gnudeau’s photos again. There was something oddly graceful about the gristly scene, something that tickled the back of his brain. He couldn’t figure out what bothered him, but he’d get there eventually. “Yeah. It’s actually where I learned about bunnies. You’d think he would use his polar bears, but they’re just guards, mostly. He uses rabbits for wetwork. You’re small, fast, possessed of incredible hearing, and you can see things a few miles away. Plus, nobody suspects a _cute little bunny rabbit_ could do something so terrible. To be honest, I was worried he’d try to use you, but it’s been years. If he hasn’t approached you yet, he probably won’t. He...hasn’t called in any favors, has he?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” She gave him a crooked smile. “For obvious reasons, I’d really rather not tell you what Paul and I talked about, but we’re square now. He likes that I keep Fru-Fru and Little Judy safe.”

Nick would likely never tell her about what Mr. Big had asked him to do as penance for the rug. It had been, as Judy said, nothing he couldn’t handle – just protection detail for a shipment of legal, if perhaps not entirely ethical, goods – but in the event that something _else_ had gone down that night, he didn’t want to get Judy involved. He knew she didn’t like keeping secrets from Bogo and Fangmeyer, but in this instance, her passion for the job overrode her need for a clear conscience. She was a great cop. Losing her because of a mistake she’d made her third day on the force would be unthinkable.

Not that IA would see it that way, hence the secrecy.

“You’re going to talk to him, right?”

“I have a lunch date with Fru-Fru on Saturday,” she said, nodding, “so I’ll talk to him then. In the meantime, we can sort through this junk and maybe talk to witnesses again. With our perspective, we can probably get more specific details. I suggest we start with the latest vics first. They’ll probably have better memories.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, not looking at her.

There went that _clunk_ again.


	3. Clockwork Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Judy both need to get their heads on straight for vastly different reasons. Nick suffers a brief crisis of conscience and Judy tells him a secret she should have mentioned a long time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this whole story planned out, but then I got some feedback that made me wonder where else I could take it. This part was supposed to come a couple of chapters down the line, and we were supposed to see the beginnings of badass Nick and Judy here instead, but...I was in a comedy mood, so it looks like we get inappropriate death jokes, teases of future events, and UST?

Because neither of them owned a television, their weekly “movie night” was a misnomer, but it rolled off the tongue better than “workaholics-meeting-to-do-more-work-off-the-clock night.”

And so it was that long-standing tradition led him to the Grand Pangolin Arms on Friday at seven. Because he was meeting Judy, he carried a pile of files in a stupid bag made for bike messengers even though it made him feel like a tool. Because he was Nick, he considered what he was going to say about her terrible living situation _this_ week. Maybe something about cocaine. Or dead prostitutes.

At first, the excuse had been student loan debt, and then it had been community, and now she didn’t bother trying to make excuses for staying in the worst part of town. Technically she didn’t even live in Zootopia proper; her building was situated in the spiral arm. Colloquially known and unofficially recognized as Happytown, the galaxy-shaped District 13 had originally been planned as another metropolitan area, but funding had run out and Happytown had been left to decay. The heart of the district was populated by low-income families interspersed with artsy, bohemian types, but the arm was mostly overrun by what traditionalist pundits called “undesirables.”

He wasn’t sure what annoyed him more: the fact that the so-called undesirables were overwhelmingly predator-class mammals from lower income brackets, or the attempts at gentrification that would eventually make affordable housing even more difficult to find for poor mammals coming into adulthood and starting families. Judy could never be characterized as undesirable in any context, in his opinion, but she seemed content to live squished between an obnoxious hipster couple and a dancer called Destiny. As the Grand Pangolin Arms had been zoned as an office building, the walls were paper-thin and not quite up to code, and he couldn’t imagine how she managed to sleep with her ridiculously sensitive ears picking up on sex and arguments and crying children all night.

He’d offered, more than once, to share his place with her. Apparently, the name Happytown wasn’t ironic for Judy, and she’d declined every time.

When Nick used his spare key to let himself into Judy’s scathole of an apartment, she was at the window, standing straight and still with her back to him and her eyes on the street outside. He could see that her earbuds were snug in her ears, and she was holding the tiny microphone up to her mouth. A call, then, and a loud one, judging by the fact that she hadn’t heard him walk in. He closed the door quietly and leaned against it, admiring her from behind. The light from the single window hit her at just the right direction to make her look like she was glowing.

 _Idiot,_ he thought with a vague sense of shame, but he didn’t stop looking.

“Devil’s Bayou? Dammit, Katie, I can’t just drop everything and go to swamp country,” Judy groaned. Nick grinned. It was so rare to be able to walk in on her doing anything. Katie was probably a college friend; he hadn’t met any of her former classmates. “No, I’m not. I’m a cop, you know that. For the love of...I have plenty to lose, and you can tell Fangworthy to go rut himself. ...No, don’t actually tell him that. Tell him I’m busy being a productive member of society.”

While Nick wondered where he’d heard the name Fangworthy before, she shifted. He thought she was going to turn around, but she only laughed in response to whatever Katie had said. “You know, six years ago I might have. Uh-huh. Go drop scat in your own porridge. Bye.”

She sighed and sagged forward, leaning her forehead against the gray-streaked glass. He crept forward and leaned against her back, waiting for the inevitable jump.

Judy did not disappoint, and even rewarded him with a little shriek. With one paw, she pulled out her earbuds, and with the other, she swatted violently at his arm. “Nick, you _jerk!”_

“You hit like a dead hooker,” he said, unrepentant.

“Oh, please. If I wanted to hurt you, trust me, you’d _feel it,”_ she replied, spinning to face him. There was a moment of electricity as her paws trailed almost sensually up his abdomen and he took in all the possible meanings of that statement, but then she tightened the knot of his tie and continued, “Look at you, all scruffy. You look like you just _found_ a dead hooker, which makes me wonder where you were before you got here.”

Breathe in. Breathe out. Calm. He pulled on his best unconcerned expression, shrugged, and told her, “Little motel off Ninth and Lingonberry. I didn’t _mean_ to, but you know how it is. Sometimes they’re a little too lively to enjoy.”

She snickered and swatted him again, much more gently this time. Just a tap, really. “Stop. That’s not supposed to be funny.”

“Not my fault you have a sick sense of humor, Carrots. You gonna arrest me now? I _did_ just commit a terrible crime.”

“I could stand to see you in pawcuffs.” She showed him her much-improved leer. It was unnervingly genuine. “Get on your knees and we’ll see where it goes.”

Well, _scat._

In his life, Nick had danced the boundary between amusing and appalling more times than he could even remember, but there was a _line_ with Judy he’d never dared to cross. She, it seemed, had no such reservations anymore. Some sick little part of him wished she knew what she did to him. Another part, the one he’d been trying to squash since childhood, hoped she felt the same things he did when she _looked_ at him in this way.

He would do it, for her. Kneel on the floor and beg her to restrain him. The very idea of it thrilled him from nose to tail. That was somehow more terrifying than anything else in his life.

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” he told her, instead of voicing his thoughts. Though she could probably hear his increased heart rate, her smile hadn’t gotten any smaller. It was that naiveté again, or whatever it was that made her both the world’s best mark and the hardest mammal to successfully con. He set a paw down in the cradle of her ears, ostensibly so that he could annoy her by rubbing her fur the wrong way, but the truth he didn’t like to admit was that he just liked her fur in general. And her ears. And the sweet little noises she made that she thought nobody else could hear. “You’ll never take me alive.”

Her eyes began to drift closed as she said, “Fine, ruin my fun. What’s in the bag?”

“Case files. I figured we could go over what we know, and we got an update from Delgato on the Coates case.”

Her ears sprang to attention and her eyes opened wide. She brushed off his paw, and he felt stupid for being sad about it. “I thought it was open and shut!”

“Yeah, me too. The guy’s a proven rapist and he’s probably murdered a few mammals, even if that part can’t be proven – yet – in a court of law. But we didn’t get an official ruling until now.”

“What is it?”

“I haven’t opened it yet. Delgato made it seem like you would be interested in the results, so I figured we’d look at it together. As of now, everything’s been fairly hushed. No media coverage, which isn’t all that surprising.”

She snorted inelegantly. “Yeah, real life is so much less satisfying than cop dramas. Almost nothing goes to trial and the arresting officers are basically an afterthought. Give it over. Actually, come sit with me and we’ll look at it together.”

Nick didn’t know the specifics, but one morning a year prior, Judy had arrested and booked a hare called Malcolm Coates. A lucky accident, she’d said at the time – much to Nick’s horror; that was a flagrant misuse of the word ‘lucky’ – that Coates had come close to assaulting her so that she had a reason to bring him in. They had connected him to eleven reported sexual offenses, including two rapes whose kits had never been tested. Judy had been _steamed_ when she’d found out that the majority of kits sat untouched in the evidence room, but instead of watching her go off half-cocked again, Nick had talked her into bringing up the issue with boring mammals in suits (the kind who knew a guy who knew a guy who had the ears of mammals who could change the system if given the right incentive). It would take a few more months, but legislation had been proposed that, if it passed, would help change the way sex crimes were classified and investigated.

It was little things, like a whisper in the right ear, that made all of this worthwhile. Nick wouldn’t be remembered as a two-bit hustler with no prospects. He’d be remembered as someone who had affected real change and maybe even as someone who changed public perception for the better, if Judy got her way. She probably would. She was stubborn as all get-out.

They sat on the edge of Judy’s bed, the only place with enough room for them both, and Nick slid the file out of his lame bag. Technically, if either of them had a laptop, they could access the same information via a remote login to the ZPD server, but those were bigger luxuries; Judy couldn’t afford one and Nick wasn’t very good with computers in the first place. Most of their coworkers hated having to deal with small paper files, but Nick didn’t care.

“They offered him a deal,” she said blankly, gazing at the papers in her paw. “The deal itself is redacted for some reason, but that _scatstomper_ isn’t going to see the inside of a jail cell. House arrest for two years, with a rutting ankle monitor. How could they _do_ this? What could a pile of buffalo chips like Malcolm rutting Coates have to offer?”

Nick tried to stay impassive, but he could feel a scowl edging onto his forehead. If Judy's language was any indication, this was animal for her. “No idea, but clearly it was enough to keep Gesa Klaue happy. And that raccoon is _never_ happy.”

“I get it, she was doing her job, but…” Judy grimaced. “This guy needed to go away. I guess the house arrest will keep him out of the public, and he’ll have to register, and this doesn’t cover any future crimes, so he’ll probably end up in prison anyway, but it’s not cool that they’re just…letting him get away with it, basically.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “At least he’s exposed now, though. We could probably convince Finnick to keep an eye on him.”

“I want the bastard jailed, not dented.” She leaned into him and he reflexively put his arm around her, curling his fingertips under the hem of her short sleeve. She was so _soft,_ and he sort of felt like a creep for thinking about what she’d said by the window while he was touching her, but if he moved she’d probably ask why.

This attraction business was hard. Life had been easier without it. “Come on, Finnick wouldn’t beat him up. Probably. No, you’re right, never mind. But hey, Officer Carrots is onto him now.”

Sounding irked still, she asked, “Anyway, which files did you bring?”

“Witness statements from the last eight cases. What’s in the Devil’s Bayou?”

“Old friends.” Before Nick could comment on her very obvious clunking lie, she shook her head. “No, that’s not right. Mammals I used to know. We weren’t friends, I was just stupid enough to trust them. I liked Victor Fangworthy until he turned into a raging buttcrack, and Katrina Castleberry’s a lying, backstabbing jerk. Let’s just...focus on the case. Thinking about Katie makes me want to punch something.”

“Well, since I’m the only thing in the immediate vicinity worth punching, I concur, we should focus on the case. I sorted the statements by date and found some...irregularities. Well, maybe not irregularities, but Jack Savage became a suspect name at the same time as the mistake with prior DNA. I don’t think it’s a real mistake. This is a setup.”

Judy shifted and moved away from him so that she could dig into his bag. He was at once both glad and sort-of-but-not-quite upset at the loss of contact. It was funny that the mammal he trusted most should make him so hyper-aware instead of relaxed. She filled the room with her presence. “Is this your work, Nick? Crackers, you’re thorough. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I think that’s why they’ve kept us together despite our...unorthodoxy. I dot our I’s and cross our T’s while you go tackle the bad guy.”

She shoved his shoulder lightly. “That’s not true. You’re invaluable. And I’m not saying your paperwork skills aren’t important, because they are, but I know I wouldn’t have gotten where I am today without you. I’m a better cop with you by my side.”

The thing was, Judy wasn’t wrong, but Nick knew what his strengths and limitations were. He was _good_ at paperwork because it had been his saving grace all those years as a hustler. Licenses and permits, contracts and funny little legal clauses were the way he’d survived until a desperate bunny had gone looking for something to pin on him. On the other paw, his caution made him generally more suited to investigative work and less suited to pursuits and arrests of dangerous criminals. He had no intention of dying on the job, even if he _had_ accepted it as a risk when he’d accepted the badge. Sometimes Judy’s gung-ho attitude got on his last nerve, because he didn’t intend to let her die on the job, either, but she didn’t seem to care about the risks.

Or maybe she did care, but she trusted him to have her back.

“And you make me a better mammal,” he told her, because how could he put all of that into words? No, that wasn’t the question. How could he put all of that into words she would understand? The kind of gratitude he felt made him warmer than a volcano.

He wondered if she knew just how unsettling it was when she looked mammals in the eye so intensely. Probably not. Her gaze captured him, set him to bristling, made him want to run and hide or growl at the threat until it went away. Some of the things she did brought out his most primal instincts, the ones he’d been taught through words or socialization to keep hidden. Nick may have been nominally predator, but Judy was a _hunter,_ and the realization that she had hunted and captured him was hard to stomach. Did she know? Had it been intentional? Was she _playing_ with her food?

She nibbled on her lower lip and moved her eyes to the files on her lap, and the spell was broken. He hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath.

“May fourteenth, anonymous witness hears a white bunny with black striping answer his phone with the word “Savage.” May fifteenth, we follow the tip to a body. June fifth, we find another body. June sixth, another anonymous tipper says they saw the same bunny meeting with a conveniently hooded mammal who calls him Jack. July first, the techs get back to us about DNA evidence from the June fifth body. August third, two more bodies have been found and Bering makes the connection to get this unofficially investigated as a serial case. Who’s Bering? Do you know her?”

“Griselda Bering. Technically not zoicide, but she runs numbers more than she does field work anyway. Fangmeyer likes to run the hard cases by her. She majored in psychology in college, specifically the portion of it that deals with statistics. She likes blueberries and she’s taking care of her brother’s cubs while he’s in rehab for the second time.”

 _“God,_ I love that brain of yours,” she told him, and it set his heart pounding again. “Next time Heather calls us useless, tell him all the details about his family while I punch him in his smug muzzle.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen, no matter how satisfying it is to watch you beat on poor, unsuspecting mammals. Fosters bad relationships with our coworkers. We’re already on thin ice because of the thing with Swinton.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, looking away. “Maybe we both ought to stop defending each other’s honor.”

He couldn’t help but laugh a little. Despite the tongue lashing it had gotten them both, Nick didn’t think he’d made the wrong decision by standing up for Judy, and he didn’t think Judy had made the wrong decision by standing up for him afterward. Part of having his partner’s back meant correcting bigoted pigs when they said bunnies were really only good for one thing, after all, and Judy hated it when mammals intimated that he was less than intelligent.

 _“Anyway,”_ said Judy, and was she embarrassed? How adorable. “The point is, I think you’re right. This is a setup. I guess our job is to figure out whether it’s Paul setting up Savage, Savage setting up the ZPD, or some combination of the two.”

“We also have to consider that perhaps Mr. Big is trying to set _you_ up,” he warned carefully. “You’re not the cop in his pocket.”

“But I am the godmother to his granddaughter. That makes me family. I know it probably sounds stupid to you, but...when he says that means something, I believe him.”

“I know. I _know,_ trust me. But we can’t rule it out just because it’s always been true thus far. Past behavior when applied to future events can only be a guide, not a certainty.”

Judy huffed and grabbed his left paw, working her own soft paws into the pads. His fingers splayed involuntarily, but she continued her – well, he wasn’t sure what she was doing, but it felt nice. “Yeesh, Nick, I knew you carried your tension in your arms, but honestly, you’ve got a problem. Listen, I’m not sure I can remain objective on this one, so I’m going to need you to take the lead.”

“Wow, Mistress Carrots, taking a break from leading me around by my nose. What should I do? I’m _completely_ lost here,” he teased, making her roll her eyes. “But in all seriousness, I can do that. As long as you can take me at my word and tell me what’s going through your head.”

“What’s going through my head is that I really don’t want to meet with Paul tomorrow – well, Mr. Big, I guess – and I just want to catch Savage and have all of this be over.”

“Fair enough, but I mean…” He hesitated. Nick usually had a kind of mastery over his own words, but when it came to Judy, the regular rules didn’t apply. “...Sometimes I get the impression that you’re not being honest with me. I’ll stand by you no matter what, you know that. But I need to know if this is going to cause problems. I need you to be honest with me.”

“I don’t always say what I’m thinking, it’s true,” she said, which was a side-step if he’d ever heard one, but before he had a chance to call her out on it, she continued, “so I guess in that respect I’m being dishonest. And, maybe, I’ve – lately – been having trouble that I didn’t want to bother you with. It’s like...all the things I used to feel so strongly are fading away. I’ve always considered my emotions to be a positive thing. I use them as tools. But now everything’s just kind of _blah,_ no real connection. Like a photograph left out in the sun too long. So I keep acting like I usually act and saying things I would normally say, but it’s more careful now. I keep asking myself, _is this a Judy thing to do?_ Maybe you’re picking up on that, too.”

Concerned, he shook off her paws and turned to cup her face. “Are you depressed?”

“Maybe? It’s a possibility, but I doubt it.” She wouldn’t look him in the eye, instead choosing to close hers and grasp his paw so that she could rub her scent all over it. For such a nontraditional bunny, she sure was territorial. He knew by now not to question whether or not he was hers, and just let her give herself the reminder. “There’s no depression in my family history, and I’ve never been depressed before. Sad, yes, but that’s not the same thing.”

“Well, let me know if it gets worse. Potential issues at work aside, you’re my best friend. I don’t want you to have to just...suffer.”

“I’m _not_ suffering. That’s what I’ve been saying.”

“Trust me, Judy,” he said, pulling her in and wrapping his arms around her, “not feeling is a different kind of suffering. You watch all those mammals around you, making connections, laughing, kissing, fighting...and you can’t be part of it.”

She returned his hug, and that was when he caught it. Her embrace was tight, but she didn’t quite relax into it like she usually did. That _was_ what he’d been seeing: the hollowness where the connection should be. That _clunk_ probably didn’t even come from intentional lies. They were just the lies she told herself to appear like nothing was wrong.

“I like it when you call me Judy,” she told him.

“Then I’ll do it more often,” he promised, closing his eyes. As he did so, Nick made an internal promise: after they solved the Savage case, he’d do something nice for her. Take her on a trip, or spring for that expensive restaurant they always joked about getting kicked out of. Anything to give her a reason for a genuine smile.

* * *

While Judy went to her meeting with Mr. Big, Nick went back to the station. Technically, he and Judy had the weekend off, but it wasn’t unusual for officers to show up anyway and work off the clock when they were absorbed in a case. While they were so understaffed, it was almost a requirement, though it never could be officially.

“Hey, Nick,” said Clawhauser from the front desk. Nick waved to the cheetah and disappeared into the Pit.

Years before Nick joined the ZPD, a new subdivision had been added to records. Gosling owed him a favor, and he knew exactly what he wanted. Despite the ethical questions his request would raise, Nick felt confident in trading in the favor, because it was not technically illegal, only frowned upon because of the way it would need to be explained in official documentation.

“Oh, hi, Nick,” said Gosling, a tiger just a little smaller than Fangmeyer. “What brings you to my lair today?”

“I’m cashing in that favor,” he replied, shooting Gosling a smile. “Don’t worry, it’s not bad, but I need you to run a couple of continuous searches.”

“Boolean?”

Nick had to think for a minute to remember what that even _meant._ “Yeah. I want Jack Savage, the name – it has to be together, not one without the other – in conjunction with guns, killing, or possible priors in other regions. Also, if you can check for service records, that might give us a lead.”

“I guess I can do that, but I’ll have to get back to you with a set of results,” Gosling warned. “How do you spell Jack?”

“I don’t know, the usual way? What do you mean?”

“Well, computers don’t have ears, per se, so we have to be precise. It could be J-A-C-K, or if he’s foreign, perhaps J-A-C-Q-U-E-S like _zhock_ that’s been Mammalianized. Hell, if there’s any gender doubt, technically it could be short for Jacqueline. And Jack is short for John or James...well, not short for, but a nickname for. Do you know any of this?”

“Sweet Sally, do all of you computer geeks think like this? Uh, can we try them all?”

“I’ll have to do even more cross-searches, but yes, it can be done with time. I’m guessing you used your favor for this because of the service records? I think I can legally access them through the same channels that attorneys do. I’ll give you a ring when I’m done.”

“Thanks, Gosling, you’re a superstar,” Nick said, clapping the tiger on the shoulder.

“You’ll be singing a different tune when you see just how many results we get,” she said with a laugh, “but for now, you’re welcome.”

He kept his eyes on the ground as he walked to the temporary office he and Judy shared. As much as he loved the job, he wasn’t always a huge fan of his coworkers, and truth be told, they weren’t always fans of his. It was only little actions, snippy comments when they thought he couldn’t hear, the perpetual surprise when he came to work day after day and proved it wasn’t just a long con, that sort of thing, but even though affable speciesism was marginally better than being kicked around, that didn’t make it _good._ And it wasn’t just hurtful; it was also contagious, and the first time Nick had wondered spitefully where a red vixen suspect in a smash and grab had stolen her earrings from, he’d wanted to slit his own wrists.

The job wasn’t perfect. Sometimes it was downright toxic. But so was life, and as much as he hated to think it, it was better to be pushed around by the police when most of them thought it was all in good fun. Wearing the badge made him part of the pack, even if he was still the odd one out.

Once safely behind closed doors, Nick tried to drop his tension, but the case had him on edge. In the event that they were wrong about how much work Savage had actually done for Big, they were dealing with a methodical mass killer. Organized, consistent, and practiced enough that he – or she, Nick supposed, now that Gosling had put that idea into his head – had gotten away with murder probably more than twenty times in the past two years or so. The only thing that made Nick about ninety percent sure that Savage _was_ a hitter was the frequency. The methods and practicalities were that of an obsessive serial killer, but there were _too many kills._ Everything Nick had learned in the Academy stressed that serial killers had specific needs to be met, and once those needs were met, the mammal would have a period of relative calm. The killer was almost certainly working off of a list, and that list had almost certainly been provided by someone else. There was no connection between the victims; species, sex, size, and even occupations differed too greatly. He thought that with time and resources, he could tie each of them to the Big operation, but the point was to leave Mr. Big out of it. Sure, he’d get another mammal to step in and do the wetwork, but that would be someone else’s problem.

One of the things that the ZPD would not understand, unless Nick sat them down and implicated himself, was that the impressions they had of the Big operation were mostly wrong, especially in regards to...liquidation. Mr. Big liked his theatrics when he wanted to make a point, but when someone displeased him enough to make a move, he rarely iced them. Icing was reserved for insults and serious infractions, not general misbehavior. On rare occasions, Mr. Big had brought in the families of misbehaving underlings and iced them one by one, as a reminder to the underling of who _actually_ had the power, but mostly that trapdoor was a way to keep the interrogation room cool enough to make mammals babble.

Because of this misconception, the sheer number of mammals dead on the shrew’s order seemed small. Mr. Big was the worst crime boss in Zootopia’s history, but from the outside, it looked like he mostly kept the nastier stuff in-house and kept order in Tundratown, the least-policed area of the city. Major crimes were after him, theoretically, but next to criminal organizations who loaned out muscle for hits and ran nonconsensual prostitution rings, he was barely on their radar.

He was trapped between a rock and a hard place, and he’d thought about it before, but never so concretely. Could he afford to give what he knew to the right mammals at the ZPD? If he did, he’d implicate himself _and_ Judy. Turning evidence could only take them so far; they would almost certainly end up in prison for at least a little bit of time, and that was when Mr. Big would strike. It would be like fish in a barrel, and he and Judy would both die alone.

On the other hand, _not_ saying anything would allow it all to continue. Was that any more acceptable?

Nick dropped his muzzle, resting his eyes on the butts of his paws, and didn’t move for a very long time. It was only Judy’s soft paw on his shoulder and her voice in her ear that told him he’d fallen asleep.

“C’mon,” she said gently, “let’s go get dinner.”

He followed her out, noting the tense lines of her shoulders, and wondered if she was as close to cracking as he.

* * *

Judy’s favorite haunt, which had quickly become a favorite of his as well, was a diner just a couple of blocks away from her apartment building. The owners had given it the misleading name _The Henhouse;_ being largely vegetarian, it didn’t have any poultry on its menu, but it did have a fake turkey sandwich made out of what was probably soy deep-fried in regret and stomach acid. Nick usually got a delectable fruit salad, or if he was particularly worn out, a cicada pasty platter, the only thing on the menu that kept them from being a prey-only establishment. Today was a pasty kind of day.

The reason they both liked the diner so much was the sheer amount of noise that would cover their conversations. Most of their coworkers preferred to meet at the _Fanged Barrel,_ a pub frequented by other cops, but Nick thought – and Judy agreed, surprisingly – that was just asking for trouble. Someone looking for information about ZPD officers could walk in, stick to the shadows, and get a big bowlful of secrets, personal details, and even case details. A noisy diner in Happytown would be the last place anyone would expect to find two officers having a heavy conversation about a troubling case. Because most mammals had trouble telling apart bunnies and foxes tended to escape notice, in their civvies, nobody would think they were anything more than two unconventional lovers on a cheap date.

They had laughed about it, once upon a time, but lately Nick couldn’t get it off his mind. He had no right to make their usual habits into things that they really weren’t, but still, he read into things that a year ago, he wouldn’t have. That Judy showered him with physical affection because she thought she _should_ only made it all hurt worse, but he wouldn’t give up their friendship for anything.

“By the look of you,” he told her once their food was plated in front of them, “I’d guess your meeting in Tundratown didn’t go well.”

She shrugged, eyes on her salad. “It depends on what you mean by that. I got that tacit go-ahead he gives you when you’ve done something right but he can’t say that in front of everyone else. But I also got the feeling that Paul – well, in his other persona – is the one setting up Jack for failure. Which brings me to the question that’s been bothering me most: _why?_ Jack does brilliant work. You’ve seen it. What does Other Paul get out of losing that kind of asset?”

“It’s not always about the work, Carrots. Think about it: if you were in charge of a large business and one of your best workers started giving you serious lip, wouldn’t you fire them anyway to avoid setting a precedent? Or maybe you find out that one of your employees has been embezzling money. Does their brilliant work make it okay? I don’t know what Jack has done to deserve the boot, but I imagine our friend has an endgame that will only make sense once it’s already been achieved. He didn’t get where he is today by being _stupid.”_

“Well, he told me he’d lend me some resources, as a _favor.”_ She snorted. “I had to respectfully decline. Who even knows what I’d have to do to pay that one off.”

“Probably take over Jack’s job when he’s behind bars,” suggested Nick playfully, but an uncomfortable silence descended over the table as they both realized that was well within the realm of possibility.

“He has to know I’d say no...right?”

“That might not matter to him. Actually, he might be counting on it. If you’re not in his pocket, you’re a risk...and yeah, you’re family, but there’s a line, even with family. He used to have a son. The kit was about to turn tail and take everything he knew to the cops. Nobody talked about him ever again. It was like he never existed.”

“Fru-Fru never talks about that,” she said, so quietly that he had to read her lips to understand.

“Please, she might be sweet and unassuming, but she’s been groomed for years to succeed him. Don’t tell me you didn’t catch that her partner married into the family. He’s officially James Largo. The focus of the operation might change, depending on where she wants to go with it, but I promise you: when the time comes, she’ll remind you that the only reason you don’t owe her a favor for saving your tail is because you saved hers first.”

“How do you even know so much about this? I mean…” Judy still wouldn’t look at him. “I know it used to be your job to know what went on in this city. I’ve been here long enough to know that having information on everyone means hundreds of ‘get out of jail free’ cards. But this isn’t just general knowledge, Nick, it’s highly specific.”

“He took me in. I don’t know how much you know about foxes, but the stereotype that we’re solitary isn’t _quite_ true anymore. We evolved to be social creatures, just like everybody else. I’m actually an outlier in that I prefer not to run around in a group, and that’s only because...well, you know how you rub your scent all over everything you own?”

“Yes? What has that got to do with anything?”

“Well, I’m sensitive to that kind of thing. I smell another fox’s mark and I get the hell out. It’s like, in my case, some of those primitive instincts weren’t suppressed like they are in most other foxes. And I’m cautious, Judy. I don’t like threats. So there I was, at eighteen years old, completely alone and desperately lonely. It’s easier to deal with other types of mammals, because they don’t smell the same. Territories, historically, overlapped sometimes, but usually not within the same species. Our friend took me in, gave me a place to stay, gave me a family that didn’t put me on edge all the time. And once I realized just how bad it was, I was already in so deep that I had to do something stupid in order to get out.”

“The skunk-butt rug,” she surmised.

“Exactly. It was about five years before I met you when I met the skunk making tiny rugs and blankets out of his own fur. I knew our friend would find out. _How_ he would, I didn’t expect, and the whole story is actually pretty funny now that I’m not afraid, but...if you part, you part on his terms. So I gave him a reason after almost a decade of close contact. Of course I know the mechanics of his operation.”

They both ate in silence for a time. He watched her, the sideslip of her ears and the stress in her muscles very telling. She wasn’t really eating, either, just pushing food around to make it look like she was taking bites. She had been doing that a lot. Her slow descent into apathy hadn’t been obvious at all, but now that he was looking, he could tell that it had been going on for months. She had even been reprimanded for her weight loss by her doctor about three months prior, and subsequently reprimanded by the chief, but a quick smile and mention of upcoming bridesmaid duties had made it seem like female vanity rather than an actual issue. That should have been his first clue, but sometimes it seemed like Judy had hung the moon and stars, and he was occasionally blind to her faults.

“You should eat that,” he told her lamely.

“I am eating it.” _Clunk._ She shoved a big bite of lettuce in her mouth and smiled, but it was a little bit empty. Mouth still full, she said, “See?”

“You know you don’t have to pretend with me. I’m just concerned.”

“Well, don’t be,” she snapped.

He put his paws up in a show of submission. “Easy there, Carrots. You’re wearing leggings under your pants and three shirts. It’s been gradual enough that I usually don’t notice how much weight you’ve lost, but you can’t do your job if you keep this up.”

“Stop it.”

“You can’t be a cop if you’re in a psychiatric hospital-”

“I will _hurt you,”_ she said darkly, and he closed his mouth with a sharp click. That, at least, had been real enough. She finally looked at him, and it was unpleasantly like being X-rayed. “I’m only going to say this once. I’m healthy, I’m fine, and this is _none of your business.”_

She threw down a stack of bills and left him there, staring after her like an idiot. The old Nick would have let her go, but Nick Wilde, zoicide detective, couldn’t just let her go off like that. He left a fifty on the table in apology for the hasty escape and took off after his partner, following her distinctive scent. She was heading along the spiral arm in the direction opposite her apartment building.

Happytown wasn’t as dangerous as mammals liked to make it out to be, but Nick worried for her anyway. She didn’t have the advantage of night vision like most of the residents and she was _small._ It was easy to forget that when they were together, but he could only think of all the trouble she could find.

Finally, he tracked her to an apartment building on Hoofstadt Avenue and followed her scent all the way to a door on the fifth floor. Without hesitating, he knocked, and was subsequently knocked off his feet by the scent of vixen and sex when the door opened. The vixen in question was probably around his age, but her leer made her seem younger. “My, aren’t you a handsome one. Too bad I don’t do walk-ins.”

“No, I...I’m looking for my friend,” he told her, trying to reconcile the idea of a fox prostitute. Didn’t that go against every instinct in her? “I’m Nick Wilde, ZPD. I, uh, followed her scent to this location.”

“Well, she ain’t here, so scram, Scuzz,” said the vixen, and slammed the door in his muzzle.

Had he followed the wrong scent? It seemed impossible. He was as familiar with her as he was with himself. Maybe she had marked the door, or…or maybe she was already acquainted with the vixen, and had gone through the apartment to the other side. That was something Nick had taught her. When in doubt, use a window.

He saw her sitting on the very top of the fire escape. She could probably hear him coming as he climbed, but she didn’t move to run. Where could she go, anyway? The roof didn’t exactly leave her with a lot of exit points. She leaned against him when he sat down next to her, and his relief was almost embarrassing in its intensity.

“So you met Kit.”

He snorted. “Kit? Really?”

“Short for Karen, probably.”

He looked up at the sky. The moon was half-hidden behind the clouds, and the stars were never as bright as they could be, but the view was better in Happytown than it was in Zootopia Proper due to the lack of street lamps. “How did you meet?”

“On the Internet, sort of. I don’t know what’s wrong with me; sometimes I don’t feel anything, and sometimes I’m so angry I could beat the scat out of someone and feel good about it. So, ah, when it gets really bad, sometimes I go and do that. On other days, she asks me. Her wife’s okay with it. In return, sometimes I babysit.”

“So when I call you Mistress Carrots, it’s not too far from the truth,” he asked, mostly because he couldn’t think of anything else. The idea was...oddly appealing, and he wasn’t sure he ought to think about it.

“I guess, but it’s not like we’re...a thing. She’s not poly, and I’m not the type to chase after someone for a laugh. We have a strictly non-sexual arrangement,” she told him awkwardly. “Anyway, I should apologize. I shouldn’t have run out on you like that, or used her to cover my escape. It was childish. I don’t know what I was thinking. I _wasn't_ thinking. I don't know why, but the way I felt was...starting to scare me.”

“You know I’m not going to apologize,” he said after a little while, running a claw-tip up and down the edge of her ear.

“I wouldn’t believe you if you did.”

“I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Life is what hurts. That’s why some mammals…” She cocked her head against his chest and made a convincing cracking noise. “...clock out early. Do you stay with the very thing that gives you grief and pain, the thing that takes and takes until you have nothing left to give, and then takes your friends and family, too? Or do you just cut your losses and get gone?”

Her words chilled him despite the summer warmth. “You’re not suggesting you’re planning to…?”

“I’m too stubborn. Or maybe just too stupid, whatever you prefer. If I just, you know, killed myself, that would mean that life _won._ Nobody tells me what to do or when to do it.”

Nick didn’t want to think about the clunking lie she’d just told, but he had to, even if he didn’t bring it up to her. He rubbed her cheek the way she liked, and she took his paw as if to mark him again, but paused and looked up at him. “Should I stop tagging you?”

“Tagging?”

“You called it marking. Said it makes you uncomfortable. Should I stop?”

“Nah, you know I’m yours. It’s not like that’s a secret.”

She took his passive agreement and ran with it, rubbing her chin and face over his paw, and then reached over to take the other one, too. She was almost desperate to get her scent on him, and he wasn’t really sure why, but then he couldn’t think about her reasoning at all because she straddled his lap to get better access to his neck. He knew that marking had a different social connotation to bunnies, and that she didn’t mean anything intimate by it, but the possessive action sent heat down his spine, through his tail, and to his groin. He would let her have it, if it made her feel better, but there was a fine line that he was sure this crossed. Was it okay to let her do this when he enjoyed it so much? Would she be angry that he was dangerously close to a hard-on just from a little rubbing on his neck?

It took everything in him not to make a sound, and he couldn’t decide whether or not he was relieved when she stopped. He slipped into a charming smile anyway. “Feel better?”

“Not really, but I know I would if things were normal, so yes.”

“Well, you can do that any time you want,” he said, and then immediately regretted it. “Within reason, anyway. But aside from that, I think you ought to talk to someone. Like a therapist.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” she replied, and he didn’t even have to feel it to know she was lying.

“See that you do,” he told her anyway, resting his head on hers, eyes to the sky again. “Don’t want to lose my best friend.”

“You should get a better one.”

He didn’t even dignify that with a response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER FACTS: When your friend is depressed, the right kind of help is a professional, not jokes. Also, and here's a fun fact, Nick's partially wrong about his ancestral biology, but I'm guessing none of us really knows what early Homo sapiens (pl) did, thought, and felt, right? We can only assume based on archaeological evidence, so I've reflected that here in this universe where there are probably archaeologists studying ancient [insert species here]. Nick's actual problem, for the most part, is hypersensitivity. It's a bitch. It can ruin relationships, trust me.


	4. Breaking Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Judy talk to some witnesses, chase a suspect, and have uncomfortable conversations with various mammals.

When Monday rolled around, Nick got a text from Gosling that dragged him into the station earlier than he’d have liked, but it was for a good cause. He wasn’t too keen on sticking around that morning, anyway; he’d fallen asleep at Judy’s place and woken up curled around her, paws tangled in her fur, feeling like a creep. It wasn’t uncommon for them both to stay at her place or his; it wasn’t uncommon for them to share a bed, either. None of their little habits and traditions had any sort of romantic or sexual implication, but the more he thought about her, the more he wanted her, and it had turned into a sick cycle of want and denial that resulted in the vague feeling that he was taking advantage of her trust.

They needed to talk. But not until he knew what he needed to say.

“I have mostly good news for you,” said the tiger. “Do you know how uncommon the name Savage is? It’s a holdover from before the First Agreements. Mammals used to earn the name if they were particularly brutal to their enemies. Out of all the families who decided not to change it to something with a lighter connotation once we built civilization, we’ve only had three here in Zootopia: a lion family, a rhino family, and a rabbit family. No Jacks, or any variants thereof, in the lion or rhino Savages. The eldest rabbits are still around, but their daughter Jacqueline is missing, presumed dead.”

“Huh.” Nick frowned thoughtfully. “Did you find anything out about her history? Any priors, maybe?”

“Sort of,” she replied grimly. “She was a Hunter on the Crimson Isles. Sent home after an incident that mangled her leg and left her in, and here I quote, a _delicate emotional state._ Discharged with honors, but she hadn’t been in the service long enough to qualify for retirement benefits, so you can imagine there isn’t much of a paper trail after that. Employment records from a library, a clothing store, and even BugBurga, but none of them last long, and she never had a bank account.”

“She’d have wanted to keep her money on her,” he mused quietly, trying not to allow the implications space to invoke sympathy.

“Got some experience with this?”

“Not exactly, but if she was a Hunter, she’d have been trained to stay light. Keep your essentials nearby, never own anything you can’t leave behind. I’ve spoken with Hunters before.”

It had been a particularly terrible time, just after he’d turned seventeen, and he hadn’t understood back then that “homeless to avoid a paper trail” was quite different from “homeless because the PTSD is so severe a job is impossible.” That particular scam was one that his mother would have been proud of, but Nick still felt like he was working it off.

“Military folks like ice cream too, eh?”

Nick didn’t grimace, or even show anything on the outside, but the innocuous statement _hurt,_ right in the space between his rib cage and his spine. Nick had done plenty of things he wasn’t particularly proud of, but few things he’d actively try to avoid thinking about. It didn’t matter that he’d done the same thing a million times before and after. It didn’t matter that he genuinely hadn’t known what would have happened. It didn’t even matter that it had fueled a burning hatred for the corrupt system for _years_ afterward. He didn’t regret it; regret was cheap sentiment. Out of everything he’d ever done, that scam was the only thing that warranted real, genuine remorse.

He shrugged, the action doing nothing for his tumultuous thoughts. “Everybody likes ice cream, Gosling.”

“Well, I’ve emailed you the details about Jacqueline Savage. Complete with gross medical pictures. You detectives like those, right?”

“Yeah, we’re gluttons for punishment.” He rolled his eyes. “Thanks for your help, buddy.”

“No problem. Hey, bring around that cute partner of yours sometime. I’ve never gotten to speak with her.”

“Sure, but I have to warn you, whatever she does to you if you call her cute to her face is none of my business. I didn’t see or hear a thing.”

“Bast Almighty, Wilde, she’s got you under heel, hasn’t she?”

“Since the beginning,” he agreed pleasantly, turning sharply and heading for the door. “See you around.” 

Gosling said something else, but Nick was already too far away to hear.

* * *

Sometimes he missed the days when he and Judy would receive assignments in the bullpen in the mornings, but ever since they’d moved to zoicide, they got their orders directly from Fangmeyer. It was nice to keep pertinent information “in-house,” as it were, but Nick thrived on intermammalian connections. There was a part of him, somewhere unreachable, that would always be a hustler and thought that staying friendly with the animals who might eventually acquire power over him was necessary to survival. Zoicide had four regular detectives and a handful of beat cops who would help out with legwork, but the source amount simply wasn’t reassuring anymore.

 _Paranoia,_ they called it in regular circles. On the force and in the streets, it was just good sense.

Judy tapped her foot faster than he could reasonably keep track of. She usually did it when she was annoyed, but he couldn’t find any reason for her to be annoyed now. Unlike him, Judy liked the quieter atmosphere; it allowed for more focus on the case. She was a _cop,_ and everything else came second.

“Tell me your lead,” said Fangmeyer, pinning him with their gaze. It was intense.

“About nine years ago, a bunny named Jacqueline Savage disappeared. Her live-in partner, Matilda Leapyear, was the one who filed the missing mammals report. But about sixteen years _before_ that, Savage was deployed to the Crimson Isles as a Hunter. I’m thinking this might be our killer.”

“That would fit the evidence we’ve collected thus far,” they mused, hands clasped behind their back. “Well-trained, small, familiar with the...mechanics of killing. That her name matches is a bonus. How did you get your paws on her service records, Wilde? We’re supposed to subpoena those.”

“Not if you go through different channels. Don’t worry, Captain, I didn’t do anything illegal. I had our techies try the site divorce attorneys use when they’re doing military affidavits. It panned out.”

“Hunter files are inaccessible to the public,” Fangmeyer retorted sharply. “If I allow you to follow up on this lead, can I expect an honest report I can still sell to the prosecutor when the time comes?”

“That information actually comes from a blog that is no longer available to the public.” Nick shifted, trying to seem confident, but he truly didn’t know how Gosling had found most of the information. “Once the computer geeks realized it was a Jacqueline, they searched for variants of that online. Cached pages – whatever that means – and other...techie things. Apparently, Leapyear was pretty outspoken once Savage disappeared. Said the Hunter program was a waste of resources and did more harm than good. I read the relevant entries. She is, or at least _was,_ not happy with our government.”

“Don’t spook her, but go talk to her. You did good, Wilde. That’s the kind of initiative I like to see. But keep it within reason, yeah? You two can’t afford to play wrangler. I want everything above board. We can’t afford to let a serial killer go free on a technicality.”

“We won’t let you down, Captain,” Judy promised.

“This isn’t about me, but thanks for the sentiment.”

Nick kept his eyes on Fangmeyer, but he caught Judy’s wilt in his peripheral vision. He’d thought that she had outgrown her desire to please her superiors, but there were a lot of things about Judy that seemed true to her character no matter what.

“We’ll get it done,” Nick said. “Come on, Hopps, let’s get out there. If we’re dismissed?” 

“Go catch the bad guy,” said Fangmeyer, grinning. It exposed their huge fangs, and Nick didn’t shudder, but he felt it edging into his body language. “Or at least find out about who she is.”

* * *

Matilda Leapyear lived in a run-down apartment building on the edge of Tundratown, which fit the hypothesis that Jacqueline had worked, or was working, for the Big operation. As they walked down the hallway on the fourth floor, Nick catalogued all the locks that he could pick in thirty seconds or less and which ones had been replaced, and then immediately chastised himself. He wasn’t that mammal anymore. No need to pick locks when he could get a warrant and go in legally.

No need to pick locks when he wasn’t doing anything illegal.

The door rattled as Leapyear strained the chain to peep through the crack. “Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Detective Hopps, this is Detective Wilde, and we’d like to ask you a few questions about your missing partner, Jacqueline Savage.”

Leapyear stared at them for a long moment, gaze judgmental and angry, but she stepped back and let the chain loose so that she could open the door fully. “Come in, I suppose. It’s a bit of a mess in here, so mind you don’t trip.”

 _A bit of a mess_ seemed too kind a term, but it was the kind of ordered chaos that Nick had in his own apartment. Two piles of laundry rested against the far wall by the bathroom. Stacks of knickknacks dotted the open floor, leaving room around the sofa and coffee table. A roll-up futon lay against the far wall, which was decorated with carrot stickers, a pile of seemingly-random objects surrounding the area by the pillow. It was the apartment of a mammal who didn’t like open spaces.

The bookcase, notably, was immaculate. Every book, and there were many, was shelved according to the last name of the author. This was the apartment of a mammal who needed to have everything _just so._ OCD, perhaps?

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Leapyear said, waving at the sofa. Nick was hesitant to sit down on the ratty thing, but he didn’t want to offend their contact, so he sat gingerly with his knees almost touching his chest. He was sure he looked comical next to Judy, for whom the sofa was actually sized. “It’s about time somebody had the guts to look into this case.”

“We’re not with missing mammals,” Judy told Leapyear, a look of what seemed like sympathy making its way across her features. “We’re with zoicide.”

“Yeah, I know who you are. Judy Hopps, the first bunny cop. Every bunny knows who you are. Most other mammals, too. Every time I go out in my cop costume, I get mistaken for you.”

“But you’re _brown,”_ Nick blurted.

Leapyear actually laughed at that. “All bunnies look the same. You wouldn’t _believe_ the weirdo ideas mammals have about us. Apparently we’re all related or something.”

“It’s true,” Judy agreed, patting his thigh. It put him on high alert. She pitched her tone higher, her approximation of a thick city accent almost mocking. _“Oh, you’re from Bunnyburrow? You must know Kelly Ohre!_ Cutie, I don’t even know half my own _siblings._ And the fluff-chasers are the _worst.”_

Nick had never, in the entire six years he’d known her, heard Judy use the word ‘cutie.’ It was clearly derogatory. Leapyear giggled like a schoolkit, but he could only ask, “What’s a fluff-chaser?”

“Mammals who have a sort of...fetish for bunnies. We’re not really mammals to them, just sexual fantasies. Any bunny will do. I make a killing off them.” Leapyear shrugged. “There’s no skill involved in taking off your clothes at parties, and it’s not illegal, so I say they’re welcome to waste their money fantasizing about something they’ll never get.”

So she was a stripper. The comment about the cop costume made sense. He saw Judy eyeing Leapyear with a funny look on her face. “Don’t you find it...irritating?”

“Well, sure, but I’m a female bunny trying to hack it alone. They’re pathetic. Scut fever might be demeaning, but at least it’s a legitimate revenue stream.”

“Well, anyway, we’re here to talk about Jacqueline,” he said, bringing them back to the point. The idea of anyone thinking about Judy as an _object_ was mind-blowingly terrible, and it made him angry just to think about it.

“Jack,” Leapyear corrected. “She – he – uh, my honey bunny preferred Jack. I never really understood it. I think I was insensitive while we were together. But yeah, Jack, or sometimes Jackie, depending on the day. I still struggle to understand.”

Nick, who had worked under Fangmeyer for a while and gone through sensitivity training in the ZPA, didn’t really see where the struggle was, but he could at least acknowledge that some mammals might struggle, especially when intimate relations were involved. He watched her carefully for clues as he asked, “What was Jack like?”

“Troubled,” she replied immediately. “Jack was in the military for a few years. The information I didn’t have outweighed the information I _did_ have, but I do know the PTSD was...have you ever had to bring someone back down from a panic attack? I knew Jack had killed mammals, I’m not stupid. I know the rumors about Hunters; Jack probably killed a _lot_ of mammals. I never asked for a number. All I knew was that there were certain things that would cause...episodes. I learned not to say _look at me_. We got by all right, at least for a few years, but all good things come to an end, I guess.”

“Jack _was_  a Hunter,” Nick told her solemnly. “They got up to a lot of things in the Crimson Isles that they shouldn’t have been ordered to do. All of the Hunters did. It’s one of the biggest shames our country carries on its shoulders. If Jack had any capability for remorse, I can see why they might have been affected.”

“They?”

“Well, you implied Jack was kind of neither male nor female, or maybe both, so without knowing, I just defaulted.” He shrugged. “Seems only fair, until we can find them.”

“You won’t. And I thought you were in zoicide.”

Judy cut in crisply, “We’re looking into a spate of murders. We think that Jack might be involved in some way.”

Leapyear shook her head firmly. “Jack’s _dead,_ I’m certain of it. _They –_ I like that – would come back to me otherwise. We’re pair-bonded. They aren’t, _weren’t,_ just my partner, they were _mine._ Maybe that doesn’t mean anything to you, but it meant the world to us. Please, I can’t afford false hope. But if you’re set on finding information, you should talk to the bears down at the fish market. That was where my Jack worked.”

 _They were mine,_ Nick echoed in his mind. It did mean something to him. He belonged to Judy, maybe not in the same way, but he loved the way she dragged him around by his tie and pinched him when he got too lippy and made him a better mammal by expecting him to be good. He had never actually had someone believe in him so much. She didn’t expect him to be shifty and untrustworthy. In fact, she had been disappointed when he had lived down to every stereotype. She had always trusted him to do the right thing, even when they’d first met. It was exhilarating to be counted on, to meet her expectations, to please her.

“We’ll talk to them,” he promised. “Hopps? Do you want to get going?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Leapyear said, “I’d like to speak to Detective Hopps alone for a moment. No offense, Detective Wilde, but it’s sort of...a private thing. Female to female.”

“I’ll wait outside in the hall,” he told her, uncomfortable. He didn’t want to leave Judy alone, but he didn’t want to be a jerk, either. “Holler if you need anything, Hopps.”

“All right, Wilde,” Judy said with a laugh, waving him off.

The walls weren’t as thick as he’d expected, and he could still hear the conversation at the door. He knew he should move away, but he didn’t trust Leapyear. He didn’t trust anyone, really, outside of his partnership. Distrust was part of survival.

“You’ve got to talk to that poor boy,” said Leapyear quietly.

“Which poor boy,” asked Judy, some unidentifiable note in her tone.

“Detective Wilde. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way he orbits you, honey. No, that’s not the right word. Orbit implies stability. Detective Hopps, there’s an event horizon, and he’s crossed it. He’s hopelessly devoted to you. It’s sweet, but you need to either release him or accept him. You can’t keep leading him on. It’s _cruel._ I don’t know you animally, but I doubt you want to be cruel.”

“Sometimes I do,” admitted Judy, “but you’re right…I don’t want to be cruel to my partner. However, you’re wrong about him. He doesn’t think of me that way. I’ve _tried._ Even asked him to marry me, once, after he asked me to move in with him. I thought…but I was wrong. He trusts me, and that’s something precious I will always treasure, but we’re not like that.”

“You _proposed?”_

“And he laughed it off.” Judy sounded blank. Nick remembered that night very clearly. He also remembered thinking it must have been a joke, because why on Earth would Judy want someone like _him?_ He’d assumed she was still trying to get her comedic timing down. “That’s why I couldn’t move in. It’s hard enough when we fall asleep together.”

“Take it from someone who knows the signs,” Leapyear advised. “You could lead him straight off a cliff, and he’d jump with a damn smile on his face.”

“Oh. Uh, well…um. I, I have to…go to the fish market, so…thanks for the chat? Yeah.”

“Just think about it. And tell me if you find anything. I know in my heart I’ll never get my sweetheart back, but I would at least like some closure.”

Judy emerged after some more stammered pleasantries, looking flustered and smelling slightly aroused. Nick tried to pretend he didn’t notice. Without looking at him, she said, “Okay, let’s go question some bears.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“They’re just _bears,_ Nick.” She paused. “Oh. You heard that, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t trust her.”

She laughed shakily. “Then, I suppose, we have some things to talk about. Not now. Maybe tonight. I’ll go home with you.”

“I’ll make dinner,” he replied, trying to ignore the quivering excitement in his belly.

* * *

The fish market in Tundratown was not, as many believed, connected to the Fish Market, a pub and grill built into the small mountain. It was the place where ice-fishermammals would go to get their fish cleaned, gutted, and sold to larger companies like restaurants and distribution centers. Nick couldn’t imagine an herbivore working that job, but then, if money had been an issue…

You take what you can get, even if it’s not what you want. Nick had learned that early.

It was cold, bitterly so. During the summer months, the climate engineering department made the temperature harsher to combat the heat from the other districts. He and Judy kept beginning to huddle into each other and then remembering their awkward moment in the hallway, but he was willing to pretend there was no lingering awkwardness for the sake of not freezing to death. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her into his side. “C’mon, Hopps, we don’t want to die now.”

“I know. We finally have a lead,” she agreed, leaning her head into his ribs. He considered pointing out that case or not, dying young wasn’t on his to-do list, but let it go for the sake of remaining relatively comfortable. If Judy’s mind was buzzing with the case, she wouldn’t think too hard about their impending conversation.

A few quick flashes of their badges and they were through to the docks, where a group of bears sat around expertly gutting fish and tossing them into containers. Through the gloom, Nick could see markers for restaurants, chain eateries, and grocery stores all across Zootopia. He cleared his throat and prepared to employ his silver tongue, but Judy jumped in headfirst, as usual.

“Hi, boys,” she said brightly, and there was that disconnect again. “I’m Judy Hopps, this is my partner Nick Wilde, and we’re looking for answers about a bunny you may be acquainted with. Their name is Jack Savage.”

The bears mostly looked at each other in confusion. The majority were younger, probably in their mid-twenties, except for two much-older bears who didn’t look confused at all. The light brown one looked at Nick carefully, disregarding Judy entirely. “What’s in it for us to tell you anything? Nobody looked into it when he disappeared.”

Nick looked at his partner, hoping to have a brief, silent conversation. She wasn’t exactly well-versed in things like tone, but she did decently with body language, and they’d known each other long enough to have developed a code of their own of sorts. Nick gave her a look he hoped asked if she minded going along with the bear’s obvious dismissal of her, and she shrugged lightly with no expression on her face. That was probably permission, since she didn’t say or do anything else.

He grinned sharply at the light brown bear. “Well, Mister…?”

“Bugbear,” said the bear gruffly. If that was his real name, Nick would eat his own badge.

“Mr. Bugbear, what’s in it for you is that you _probably_ won’t be a suspect if you’re honest with us. See, we weren’t with the ZPD nine years ago, but now that we are, we’re pursuing Savage _aggressively._ We want them found. And since you were some of the last mammals to see Savage alive…well, it doesn’t look too good for you, does it?”

‘Bugbear’ laughed loudly. Too loudly, in Nick’s opinion, for it to be fully genuine. “And you think – you and a cute little _bunny rabbit –_ can take a bear downtown for questioning?”

“Oh, I have no illusions about _our_ relative strength.” He gestured between himself and the bear. “My partner, however, can take down a rhinoceros, and she’s notorious for becoming…ill-tempered when someone calls her cute. So perhaps you’d like to watch your tone and try again.”

‘Bugbear’ puffed up, but the dark brown bear put a heavy paw on his shoulder. “Enough, John. These folks are doin’ their job, same as any of us. Listen – Wilde, is it? Jack was one o’ us. ‘E was jess doin’ ‘is best in a scat sitch-yation. Military, see. Messed up inna head, too. Couldn’ get work inna quiet place widdout disturbin’ _clientele._ Most folks don’ take too kindly to lurkin’. ‘E was fast an’ efficient, an’ ‘e never complained once, so Boss let ‘im stay on durin’ the off-season. Nine years ago, ‘e just stopped comin’ down to the docks. Miz Leapyear came sniffin’ aroun’ for answers, but we had none to give then, an’ we have none to give now. Mosta these folks are new, anyhow.”

Nick opened his mouth to ask who Jack had been closest to, but a shot rang out and John grabbed his upper arm, which had begun bleeding. After a quick assessment and realizing it was only a graze, Nick took off after Judy, who was already running after the shooter, and called over his shoulder, “Thanks! We’ll come back if we have any more questions! And for scat’s sake, call EMS!”

The shooter was clearly not a professional, firstly because they had _missed,_ and secondly because Judy seemed to know exactly where she was going, so she could likely hear the shooter’s footsteps. He followed her scent to a series of tunnels under the shallow end of the artificial sea, but she was hesitating at the mouth of the caverns.

“The sound is all over the place,” she told him. “I had him, Nick, I _touched_ him, but he scratched me. He got away.”

He would be taking a look at her scratches later, but for now, the job was more important. “What kind of animal?”

“A feline. Not a big one; just a bit taller than you. I suspect an ocelot, but he wore a hood.”

“Okay. We’ll split up. Do you remember the layout of these caves?”

“I know how to find the temperature controls and the emergency drains.”

“You go that route, and I’ll take the other side. Got your flashlight?”

“Always.”

“Remember to flash it in his eyes if you find him. Cats have decent night vision; you might be able to temporarily blind him before his eyes adjust.”

She nodded. “I’ll see you in a bit. If you find him, try to bring him in alive, but if he takes your weapon, rip his rutting throat out. I’d rather lose a lead than lose you.”

“Affirmative.”

He and Judy separated just inside the mouth of the tunnelway. It wasn’t exactly labyrinthine, but there were a few places that branched off from each other, so he had to keep a wary eye out and his nose in sharp order; the shooter might try to backtrack, and he didn’t want to miss him just because of a stupid mistake. He kept his tranquilizer gun out and up, ready to shoot anyone who wasn’t Judy.

The cement of the tunnelway was slightly damp, showing the amount of decay that had built up over the years since he’d first shown Judy the little hideaway. Ten years ago, plenty of mammals had used it as a stopover, but new legislation required that security guards swept the place at night, so it was a dead zone for the homeless population. It was a great place to count money during the day, or at least it had been, but Nick would have to file a complaint with City Hall about the degradation. As it was, he was worried the whole place would flood.

The sound of his own footsteps echoed in his ears, eerily loud in the silence of the caverns. He tried to stay quiet, but the _clack-clack_ of his claw-tips on the ground made it impossible, and he was sure any bunny would be able to tell that his heart was pounding. His fur was standing on end and his tail was at full-bristle. This wasn’t the first time he’d been in this tunnelway alone, but it was the first time he’d chased a suspect through a dark, echoey tunnelway without Judy by his side. They were both capable, having gone through the same training, but it just felt _wrong._

He twitched as a creeping tap made its way toward him. He hid around a corner, waiting for whatever animal to emerge from the other branch of the tunnel. Tranq gun? Working order. Breathing? Slow and quiet. He was ready.

It was an ocelot. Male, as Judy had stated, and wearing a hoodie with the hood down around his shoulders. Nick stepped out of the shadows and took careful aim, knowing that he really only had one shot; if he missed, the ocelot would be too close for Nick to reload. But before Nick had the chance to pull the trigger, a quiet _swish_ sounded behind him and a kick to his shoulders sent him sprawling, the tranquilizer gun skittering across the ground. The ocelot turned, saw Nick’s attacker, and shrieked – a creepy, otherworldly noise Nick would prefer never to hear again.

“Oh, God, no, _please,”_ said the ocelot, oddly stationary for someone so afraid. “I swear, Jack, I didn’t say anything, I-”

“You were late,” said Nick’s assailant in a quiet, friendly voice. It belonged to a male mammal as well. Nick turned his head, still splayed out on his belly for safety purposes, and saw…

Well.

The bunny had white fur with black striping. His suit was well-made, but loose enough to move in, and his smile was affable enough, but there was something wrong with it. Like Jack Savage – for that was the only bunny this could be, despite being male – had learned to smile for the sake of smiling, but had never seen a real smile before. He walked on silent paws, his scent blocked with something Nick couldn’t smell at all, toward the cowering feline.

A glint of something reflected the ocelot’s dim flashlight beam and Nick realized why Savage had been able to claw mammals’ flesh clean off: each nail-tip had been sharpened to a sharp point and capped with metal.

“It doesn’t matter whether or not you said anything,” Savage continued, deliberately stepping on Nick’s forearm. He wasn’t heavy enough to do any real damage, but it hurt nonetheless. As quietly as possible, Nick began slowly working his sidearm out of its holster, hoping with everything in him that Savage would assume he was just shifting from the pain. A long ear twisted in his direction, but otherwise, the bunny didn’t acknowledge him.

Hopefully, that was a good thing.

“You missed, and now once the doctors are done with him, that bear will sing like a bird. We don’t know how much he knows, but does that matter? You were late, and you missed. I’m disappointed in you.”

 _“Please,_ Jack, we can – we’re family, right?”

“We are,” said Savage. “That means that sometimes we clean up each other’s messes.”

Nick watched in fascinated revulsion as Savage bounded off the wall and behind the ocelot, dragging metal claws across his soft neck. The stink of blood entered his nose immediately, matching the red, pulsing spray as major arteries were severed. Nick was far enough away that none of it landed on him, but there was _so much blood –_

He drew his weapon fully and pointed it at Savage, who was holding the ocelot’s head to the ground with a strong foot. “Paws in the air, Savage.”

“You know who I am,” said the bunny, seemingly unconcerned. “What an honor for me. I know who you are, too. The soft-hearted fox cop who used to be relevant.”

Soft-hearted?

“I don’t want to kill you,” he warned, “but I will if I have to. _Paws in the air.”_

“See, if your partner were here, I might comply. She’s a right terror. But you? Mired in guilt? Unwilling to show his _teeth?_ You don’t have it in you. You’re out of your league, Kit.”

Savage was right about his reluctance to show his fangs or use lethal force, but _rut the guilt._ Judy had given him an order, and he was going to follow it. Paws steady and aim true, he pulled the trigger.

But in the split second he’d taken to think, Savage had already begun running, and Nick’s shot only grazed his shoulder.

Savage was _fast,_ and with his scent blocked, Nick knew he didn’t have a chance of catching him in the tunnelway, so he turned his focus to the ocelot. He scrambled to reach him and dropped to his knees, ready to staunch the flow of blood, but the ocelot was already dead. Nick stayed kneeling in the pool of blood, unable to completely process what had just happened, until he smelled Judy.

“I didn’t mean _literally_ tear his throat out,” she joked, but he didn’t laugh like he might have in another situation.

“Jack Savage did this,” he told her. His voice was entirely flat. “He was here. I saw him claw this guy’s throat open. I shot him, but he was fast. Only just got him, and not in a lethal spot.”

“Okay,” she said gently. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m going to go check to see if there’s any blood in the tunnel, but I’m not leaving you. I’ll stay in your sight. Try to get up.”

Nick pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the squelching of the blood beneath his knees and paws. His legs shook under him. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen someone die, and he didn’t think he was scared. Maybe he was coming down from an adrenaline high. Maybe he was sick. Maybe a million things. All he knew was that he had pointed a lethal firearm at Jack Savage and told him to freeze _twice._ He had listened to Savage taunt him instead of shooting. He had put a higher value on his own life than the lives of the countless mammals Jack Savage might go on to kill, and watched Savage claw the ocelot’s throat open instead of drawing quickly and shooting to kill.

“Calm down,” said Judy, exiting the tunnel and tucking a bag into her pocket. Nick hadn’t noticed, but he was growling. He couldn’t _help_ it. He was angry and he felt helpless. He wasn’t sure what he could have done differently, but he couldn’t help thinking that he should have done _something._

She put her arms around his middle and nuzzled his abdomen, pushing her paws up and under his shirt and digging her nails into his fur deeply enough for him to feel it. “You did good, Partner. We got blood. Ten to one says it’s Savage’s blood.”

“It’s not good enough,” he muttered, pressing his nose to her fur. After the clean blocked non-scent of Savage, she smelled like safety. “I should have killed him.”

“Hey, you took the shot.”

“I _hesitated._ I let him get to me.”

“We’ll find him, Nick. It’s going to be okay.”

He slowly returned her embrace, trying not to consider the day a complete failure. Judy may have been able to write it off, but Nick could not. He knew, deep inside, that Jack had been right; he was too soft-hearted.

 _But,_ he thought, recalling his ethics instructor at the ZPA, _the only thing worse than a soft-hearted cop is a psychopath._

* * *

“I expected better of you both,” said Bogo, frowning down at them. Fangmeyer stood to the side, looking disgruntled instead of impassive. Fortunately, the attitude seemed to be directed at the Chief instead of at Judy and Nick.

“With all due respect, Sir, Hopps wasn’t-”

“I wasn’t there when Wilde cornered Savage,” said Judy, “but he managed to graze a bunny running at full speed through a dark tunnelway, which is better than anyone at Precinct Three could do. We got DNA from the scene. Wilde confirmed that Jack Savage is real, and that he’s a bunny. He even saw Savage kill a mammal, so we can at least charge him with that one _when_ we catch up to him. He can’t hide forever, Chief.”

Bogo snorted. “You would say that, Hopps. You’re both incurable optimists.”

Nick raised a brow at that. He hadn’t ever considered himself an optimist, at least not since he was a child. He knew to expect the worst of mammals, and he expected things to go wrong. In what universe was that optimistic?

“Chief,” said Fangmeyer, “their report clearly states that they were pursuing an ocelot who had shot at a potential witness. They were not expecting to run into Savage. There was no way they could have predicted this scenario.”

“It’s not about Savage,” said Bogo irritably. “It’s about professionalism! Why did you not radio for backup? Why did you split up in the tunnelway? You, Hopps, with your training, could have hit that rabbit and brought him down.”

“We had to make a decision.” Judy did not look at Nick, but her ears were on him. She chose to meet Bogo’s gaze head-on. “If we’d gone back to the cruiser, we’d have lost the shooter. The tunnelway was too big for us to realistically cover together, so we split up. _I_ made those decisions. _I_ told Wilde what to do. He followed me because we’re partners, and we didn’t have time to argue about logistics.”

“I ought to suspend both of you.”

“Only me, if that’s what your next course of action is,” Judy argued. Nick’s mouth dropped open slightly at her brazen disrespect. “Wilde’s actions were exemplary. I’m the one who messed up.”

“I said I ought to. Didn’t say that I would.” Bogo sighed. “The truth is, you two are the only officers who’ve ever gotten close enough to Savage to prove that he exists. It doesn’t give us anything on the serial murders, but it does give us enough to officially name him as a suspect. And Wilde saw him kill a mammal, so you’re right, Hopps: we at least have him for that, as long as we can find a name in our systems that matches the DNA. Watch your step from now on, and we might be able to nail him down. Dismissed.”

“Sir,” Nick and Judy barked, and filed out. Nick heard Fangmeyer begin to hiss something at the Chief before the door banged closed behind them, but he turned his attention to his partner.

“You _lied_ to him,” he whispered. “Lied right to his face.”

“You’re a fox,” she replied bluntly. “You can’t afford to have a single black mark on your record. You know they’ll write you off, and by extension all foxes, if you mess up even once. I only made sure that didn’t happen. I don’t want you hurt.”

“But-”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

He shut his mouth, trying not to be touched by the gesture. In a way, it was almost degrading, but he could understand why she’d done it. She’d been party to enough of his monologues about building a legacy and being a role model to know that he would be upset if young kits were denied opportunities because of his mistakes. And the truth was, depending on public opinion at any given time, it was possible they would be. He hadn’t been a cop long enough to prove that foxes were trustworthy. In fact, he wasn’t sure anything he did would be good enough. Even some of his own coworkers saw him as the _good_ fox, rather than _a_ fox. He wasn’t proof that foxes were just like everyone else; he was proof that _one_ fox could be decent. He was _that one fox_ they could point to if they were ever accused of being speciesist; _I can’t be, see, I’m friendly with a fox!_

Maybe Judy had made the right call for the greater good, but he wished she hadn’t had to make it. Why couldn’t animals see past species lines? Why did there have to be lines at all?

Judy tucked her fingers through his beltloop and tugged him onward, down the stairs and to the lobby. As they passed the receiving area, Clawhauser called out, “Wait, Hopps!”

“Hi, Clawhauser,” she chirped _(clunk)_ , changing directions. Nick nearly stumbled as the tug on his beltloop pulled him to the left. “What’s up?”

“While you were out, I got a call. It was really weird. She said she was looking for you, but she asked me to give you a message even if you were in. Her name was Kat Castleberry. I told her I wasn’t a messenger for our officers, but then I thought maybe you’d want to know.”

Nick looked down and saw…something. He had never seen Judy in a rage before, but if he had to guess, that was what he’d call it. Her expression was dark, and she clenched her paws so hard that his beltloop popped its stitches. She didn’t seem to notice. “Well, I guess I’ll have to go _call her.”_

She turned on her heel and marched out of the lobby, trailing waves of tension. Nick turned to Clawhauser, whose eyes were wide. “Looks like Carrots is a little steamed.”

“That was a terrible joke,” Clawhauser told him flatly, “and I have never seen her angry before. Gosh, that was weird.” 

“Yes,” Nick agreed. “Yes, it was.”

* * *

Since Judy had begun to come around, Nick’s priority had been to make his basement apartment something to be proud of. And mostly, it was. The ceiling only leaked in one place, the shower worked (courtesy of the bunny in question), all of the drawers in the dresser worked, the Rayburn was functional, and all the things he’d collected over the years – he was not a hoarder, _honest,_ he just liked having enough stuff around to make him feel boxed in and secure – were in places that made the area look tidy. Unlike the ordered chaos in Leapyear’s apartment, Nick had a decent amount of open space. The only true similarity was the space around the dresser, since he nested in the bottom drawer, and that was always behind a divider so she never saw it anyway.

Not that Judy actually noticed. She’d always said it made no difference to her, as long as there was enough space to go through case files.

In preparation for their little heart-to-heart, Nick busied himself with dinner. Taking cues from his earlier conversation with Clawhauser, he steamed vegetables and whipped up some vegan soy sauce. He was in the middle of boiling noodles when he got a request for a MuzzleTime with an unknown number. He almost ignored it, but curiosity got to him and he pressed ‘accept.’

“Oh, good, I’m glad you picked up,” said Bonnie Hopps, whose face dominated the screen.

“Um,” he said _oh so_ intelligently. “Hi, Mrs. H. What can I do for you?”

“Firstly, I'd like to know if you got our package,” she said, pressing her face close to the screen as though trying to see behind Nick. It was hilarious, and it made him feel more comfortable with the whole bizarre scenario.

“Yes, ma’am, and already ate most of it,” he confirmed, steadfastly _not_ laughing. “I asked Judy to thank you next time you spoke. Have you been playing phone tag?”

Bonnie drew back and pursed her lips. Nick saw the family resemblance. “She isn’t communicating with us. I know she reads my texts, but she doesn’t answer them, and the only time any of us has ever gotten through to her was when Moondancer went out to Zootopia and borrowed her friend’s phone. I’m beginning to think she’s avoiding us.”

“We’ve been pretty busy with our caseload,” he told her smoothly, immediately wondering why he was covering for Judy. They didn’t have to present a united front to her mother, and in fact, if she was actively avoiding her family, that just indicated that something was seriously wrong. It wasn’t his business, exactly, but aside from the fact that he cared about Judy’s well-being, they both needed to be at the top of their game. As a compromise, he offered, “You know her, always on the job. I’ll see her later tonight, actually; want me to talk to her and see if I can’t convince her to call you?”

“That would be lovely, dear.” She cocked her head to the side. “Is that steam I see behind you? Are you cooking?”

“Not exactly. It’s just some vegetables and noodles. Nothing fancy, just sustenance, really.”

She snorted. “It’s better than frozen dinners. I tried my best, but Judy can’t cook to save her life.”

“Don’t I know it,” Nick replied with a laugh, turning around to stir the noodles again and heat up some olive oil in a pan. “She’s not allowed in my kitchen. The Rayburn’s too expensive to replace.”

“Well, I’m glad she has someone looking out for her. Bit surprised it’s a fox, but I suppose I’m glad she got over that trauma too.”

He tried not to frown. Bonnie hadn’t struck him as overtly speciesist, or at least, not the kind of mammal who would make those kinds of comments to his face. “What’s that mean, exactly?”

Seeming to realize how her comment had sounded, her expression turned reassuring. “Oh, it’s not on you, honey, it’s on us. We did her no favors by blaming Gid’s behavior on his nature as a fox, but she had nightmares for years after that, and we weren’t really sure how else to convince her to make friends again.”

He felt stirrings of wariness at hearing about another fox in her life, which was stupid, but he couldn’t help it. “Who’s Gid?”

“Oh, I’m sure she still calls him Gideon when she talks about him.” Actually, Judy had never talked about a Gideon, but before he could say that, Bonnie continued, “They were thick as thieves when they were small kits, but something changed and they were just at each other’s throats all the time afterward, and then he clawed the heck out of her cheek and she kind of withdrew. Ever since then she’s been afraid to make friends, thinking she’ll ruin it. And she did ruin plenty of friendships, over and over again, almost like she was doing it on purpose. I’m so glad you’ve stuck by her side. It’s not right, a bunny having no friends.”

“Oh.” He’d seen faint scars under her fur on a particularly windy day. She’d told him they were from an incident with a rake, and he hadn’t noticed the lie at all. “Well, I’m happy to be her friend. Judy’s amazing. Anyway, I should go. Gotta finish dinner before she arrives.”

“It was nice talking to you again, Nick. Will we see you in Bunnyburrow any time soon?”

“Maybe. If Judy feels like bringing me along next time she comes down there.”

“I sure hope so. The kits love you. All right, have a good night, and thanks again for feeding her.”

Bonnie ended the call and Nick threw his phone gently across the room to land on the couch. He didn’t want to feel hurt, but he did. Why had Judy lied to him? It didn’t seem like something that needed to be hidden. He didn’t understand why she was unwilling to share with him when he had been uncommonly honest with her. Had she withheld the information because she didn’t want him to know or because she didn’t want to hurt him?

He would ask her, but later. Maybe after they had their awkward conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER FACTS: Television doesn't ever do OCD justice. Yes, you've got your cleaners, and you've got people who obsessively wash their hands until they crack and bleed, but OCD can show up in insidious little ways that make it seem like "not a big deal" even though it's actually ruining your life. Like Matilda Leapyear's apartment. Someone with OCD can live like that just fine, but lose their shit when something is moved from its spot. That's not a big plot point in this story, but it's important to know.


	5. OTK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stress makes everyone do stupid things. The Savage case is taking over Nick's life, and a relationship with Judy might be more than he can handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know from feedback that parts of this story are probably a little inaccessible to general readership. I’m trying to balance “writing from experience” with “writing what most people experience” and it’s harder than I thought it would be. Unless you’ve been saved by the most amazing people you could possibly imagine from the kind of life that requires an expanding file to keep track of aliases, you might be right to think Nick is weird and probably too obsessive/accommodating. But Nick’s a highly unreliable narrator, and he believes he owes Judy the biggest debt of gratitude – whether he does or not is irrelevant – so keep that in mind for the future, I guess. There’s a reason I identify with Nick, and it has nothing to do with the fact that we both dress like we raided a geriatric garage sale…so things I think are obvious may not be. Feel free to point out anything that goes too far beyond the realm of normalcy and I’ll try to fix it if it won’t mess up the narrative.

After it had become clear that Judy was not, in fact, going to show up, he’d clicked his teeth together, put on a scrubby tee-shirt, taken off his pants, and sat down with something enjoyable. Nabarkov was a good distraction from the events of the day and the ticking loneliness that creeped up on him in times like these. The wolf’s obvious love affair with the written word appealed to Nick’s inner romantic, and in the case of his current choice, _Invitation to a Beheading,_ the absurd content appealed to his inner rebel.

Nick looked up from his book when he caught a quiet knock on his door at eleven-thirty. The food was long-cold, having sat on the counter for a couple of hours, and he didn’t exactly want company after being completely blown off, but he also didn’t want to be standoffish, not when he’d established real rapport with mammals who didn’t know him. His new neighbors were pleasant enough, except during the beginning of the month, when rent was due. Then, everyone retreated into their own apartments staring sadly at their empty wallets, or so Nick assumed. Maybe they were just avoiding the old goat who managed the place.

The rent was a bit steeper than he was always comfortable with, yeah, but it was a nicer neighborhood, and that was a kind of security he would gladly pay for. Even if it meant schmoozing with his neighbors and collecting information that might be useful should they try to get him kicked out.

He slipped the chain out of its socket, unlocked the bolt, and opened it a fraction to see Judy, looking contrite and twisting the tip of her left ear between her paws. “Hi, Nick.”

“Look who decided to grace me with her presence,” he said, hating the slightly nasal tone in his voice.

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

“I had a very delicious dinner, you know. It’s too bad you weren’t here.”

“I’m _sorry.”_ She sighed, wilting further. “I’ll just go.”

He almost let her. He was annoyed enough already at being wound up and then let down, but one thing he’d learned from their fight at that disastrous press conference six years prior was that real adults talked to each other when they were angry. Storming off – or allowing someone to leave – and expecting the other party to just _know_ what was wrong did nobody any favors, and Judy deserved all the favors in the world. “Come on in, Carrots, I’m just being a jerk. Why _are_ you here so late?”

“I had a three-hour phone call with that scatmouth, Katie Castleberry, and then I had to field a call from Victor Fangworthy himself. Wanted to shoot myself halfway through just to escape, but I prevailed. I’m sorry I didn’t text, but…the only reason the call ended was that my phone died. Ended up walking here.”

He raised a brow, opening the door all the way to let her through. “All the way from Happytown?”

“It’s not even twelve miles. I didn’t want to show up angry.”

“What’s the deal with them, anyway? I swear I’ve heard of Fangworthy, but I can’t recall where.” He bolted the door behind them. “No, wait. That’s not the conversation I want to have with you.”

“I know.” She looked to the side, seemingly unable to decide what to do with her paws. He rolled his eyes and took them, leading her over to his couch. He had never bothered with a kitchen table, so the couch was where they did most of their socializing, including dinners. Her eyes widened. “Nick, you’re not wearing pants.”

“What would my mother say,” he asked dryly. “C’mon, you’ve seen me in less.”

“Yeah, but not…not when we…”

He tried not to laugh, and mostly failed. “You have weird priorities. Still hungry?”

“Not really.”

He eyed her, taking in her reduced size, and shook his head. “That’s too bad. I’m giving you food anyway, and I shall be _very_ sad if you don’t eat it.”

“Blackmailer.”

“Like you can talk.” He busied himself with scooping up noodles and vegetables, which he’d pan-fried together in soy sauce before packing it all into the fridge, and put the big bowl in the microwave. It wouldn’t taste as good as it had earlier, but at least it wasn’t frozen carrots. He watched Judy shift on the couch, but he didn’t invite her to start speaking. Now that she was here and _this was happening,_ he wasn’t even certain what he wanted her to say.

The loud beep made Judy jump. Nick smothered a smile. Sometimes she was such a typical bunny, when she wasn’t busy being some kind of alien life form. He stuck two plastic sporks into the bowl and sat down next to her, waiting.

After a few moments, she began, “It’s not a secret, how I feel about you. I’ve loved you for…I don’t know. A good while. And it’s okay that you don’t feel the same way, but we probably should have addressed it already. Just so it doesn’t make things awkward.”

He stared at her in utter confusion for several uncomfortable seconds while she shifted in her seat. He wanted to say something, but he wasn’t even sure which words he should be reaching for. She met his eyes, pleading. “Say something, Nick.”

“You think I don’t think about you the same way?”

“I just have to go on what you say. I don’t…I’m working on it, but I’m not good at nuance like you. If you don’t tell me, or at least _show_ me, I don’t know. I couldn’t possibly.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that one. I guess I tried not to show it, because I didn’t know you had any sort of – non-platonic thoughts toward me.” He blew out a breath. “You’ve dated plenty of mammals. You asked me to help you _pick out clothes_ for those dates. I thought we would always be just friends, and I was fine with that because I _love_ you and I want to see you happy and your friendship is the most precious thing in my life, but I don’t think it’s fair to say that how you feel isn’t a secret.”

“I asked you to _marry_ me.”

“And I thought you were joking.” Her face did something funny where her entire expression closed and bugged simultaneously, and he backtracked, trying to explain. “I mean, why would you want me anyway? I’m old-”

“Which would never bother me, even if it were true.”

“I can’t give you kits-”

“Which is a good thing, since I don’t want them.”

“I can’t, you know, take care of you financially-”

“Is that even a thing real females want? Pretty sure it’s a myth.”

“I’m a _fox-”_

“And a very handsome one, at that.”

“Oh my god, Judy, you’re missing the point.”

She snorted. “What point is that, exactly? That you don’t like yourself? That you’re afraid being with you would somehow make me unhappy? I’m not missing it, Nick, I’m choosing to ignore it, because it’s beneath you. I hate it when you devalue yourself. You’re my inspiration. You’re sometimes the reason I get out of _bed_ in the morning – I want to see what dumb joke you make today, or which pair of glasses you’ve chosen, and maybe that’s silly of me, but at least I have a reason to live other than spite. I didn’t choose you because you’re my partner; I chose you as my partner because you’re you. That’s as true now as it always has been.”

“…Eat,” he told her, trying to sift through everything.

The truth was, as eloquent as Nick could be, he was only in his element when it didn’t matter. With access to a library, he could speak extensively and convincingly about anything, from sex to astrophysics, despite being an expert in nothing. He could sell spare antlers to a moose in a way that would leave them happy, but when it came to matters of the heart...he wasn’t quite the same mammal. Even when it came to childhood memories, Nick had to take a step back and dissociate from the actual feeling. But Judy wasn’t a mark, and he owed her honesty.

Even if it hurt.

“I don’t do this,” he told her. “Feelings. Love. Looking back, I can see I had opportunities, but everybody leaves, Carrots, in one way or another. Either you drift apart or they die, and that’s if you even get past the barriers between you. Full disclosure here: I spent most of my life thinking I was a little better than everyone else because they all had relationships on the brain, sex and kisses and mushy scat that seemed counterintuitive. They were all just…giving their power away. That was the one thing I had. I was street sleaze, but I was alive, and no one had power over me. If someone killed me in my sleep, it wasn’t because I’d let them into my bed. And then there was you. The way you get to me…sometimes it’s like you glitch out my brain and all that’s left is _feelings._ I hate it. It hurts, and I hate it, and I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire life. But I don’t want to be your reason for living. I want to be a perk of a life you already want. If that’s how you think of me, we can’t do this.”

Her nose was twitching again. It went crazy when she was stressed or overwhelmed, and some part of him wondered whether he should have dumped all of that on her, but he thought it was the reasonable option. The alternative was to stay silent and hope she understood, and Judy – for all her training – was not mammal-savvy. She had a big heart and a good brain, but being smart and understanding mammal behavior were not always the same thing. He’d need all the bones in his body twice over to count the times his subtle sarcasm had flown right between the tips of her ears.

“You make me _feel,”_ she said very quietly, “but that’s not why I love you. I think you make me feel because I love you so much nothing can erase it, not even this...freakish apathy. Maybe I need to…get my head on straight before I, _we,_ make any decisions. That’s okay, right? Nobody said we’re going to die tomorrow.”

“At least we both know.” His laughter was sharp and edged with anxiety. “And seriously, eat. I slaved away over a hot microwave for a whole minute for you.”

“My hero,” she snarked, but took a bite anyway.

He loved it when she ate his food. Nick wasn’t sure why, but it was like a visual and tangible representation of their friendship. He cooked for her because he loved her, and she ate it because she trusted him. Her trust was the thing he valued most; she was a rabbit who’d been taught that foxes were dangerous, and he’d been nasty to her in a fit of hurt and bitter anger, but she still trusted him despite his shortcomings. She trusted him to have her back when it counted. Every bite she took was a reminder of that.

“Listen, I…” He looked at the ceiling, once again running out of words when he needed them most. “So that we’re clear, I don’t really know what a healthy kind of love looks like. My parents were an arranged marriage, so their pair-bond – while real – left them with all kinds of problems, including me. Finnick has the _worst_ off-and-on relationship with a vixen who only goes back to him because she doesn’t think she can do any better. They’ll never pair-bond. Let’s not even get started on Wolford and his partner. Your parents…”

“More or less the same problem as yours,” she said. “Never stated in so many words, though. Bunnies are supposed to settle for what we can get, because at least we’re not being hunted and caged anymore.”

“Exactly.” He frowned. “Actually, no, not exactly, and I want to hear what _that’s_ about someday soon, but the actual settling part, yes. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t know what healthy love looks like, but I don’t think this is it.”

He watched her carefully as she mulled over his words. He hated the idea of hurting her, but the more he thought about it, the worse he felt about actually _starting_ anything, even though just a few hours prior he’d been excited to (maybe) have…well, what, exactly? Foxes didn’t go in for kissing much, as their muzzles weren’t shaped for it. And he didn’t think he was ready for anything sexual; as much as he wanted it sometimes, the flood of oxytocin and vasopressin might force a pair-bond before they even knew if they were compatible, and there were a million reasons not to have had this conversation at all.

She didn’t seem put off by his track, though. If anything, she seemed comforted by it. “I know. I’m glad you have sense, because if it were up to me I’d throw caution to the wind and we’d probably both end up hurt. I think you’re right, Nick – I need help. And it’s good to know all of this about us, but it’s not fair to you if I can’t give you my whole self. So. Tomorrow I’ll make an appointment with a…therapist, and you might have to remind me to eat but I’ll _try,_ and you figure out what you want, and maybe…after we wrap up this case…we could give us a shot.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said, and nudged his spork against her mouth. She opened and accepted the bite, and he felt an unusual optimistic swell in his chest. Maybe everything could work out.

* * *

Life went on. Nick awoke with Judy drooling into his ruff and didn’t feel like a creep anymore. He took note of the fact that she had a spare toothbrush above his sink, a bottle of synthetic Leporidae cecotrope in his medicine cabinet, and two spare uniforms in his makeshift closet – _he had as many things at her place, too –_ and tried not to smile like a maniac when he cleaned a thick wad of grey fur out of his furbrush.

Regardless of whatever might happen after they caught Jack Savage, they were best friends. Life went on, and Nick liked where it was going.

Even if it meant a shot of espresso in his coffee after staying up so late and waking up so early.

“I thought you were trying to cut back,” Judy observed from her side of their chair, obviously amused.

He made a gesture that could probably be interpreted rudely, but mostly just looked like he was mimicking a sloth swatting at a fly. “That was before someone kept me up until two talking about Nabarkov. You just wait until you’re my age, Carrots. You’ll wish you’d slept more.”

“Aww, you poor thing. Pretty soon your scrawny little legs will give out on you, and you’ll start yelling at kits to get off your lawn.”

“You bet your sweet tail I will. I’ll retire to Bunnyburrow and spend my days swapping jokes with your dad. Does he own a spittoon? I’ve always wanted one.”

 _“Nick.”_ Her shoulders were shaking with obvious laughter, even if she was trying to hide it. “Stop it. You’re not old.”

She may have technically been right, but sometimes he _felt_ old. Things he could do easily in his youth were no longer options. Living on power-naps under bridges to combat the paranoia was an impossible lifestyle now. Judy seemed to have boundless energy to accompany her enthusiasm for the job, but there were times when Nick wondered if it was eight years between them, or eighteen.

He changed the subject. “Have we heard back from the lab yet about the blood?”

“Yes, Nick, it’s been three weeks of obnoxious waiting and we have finally gotten our results.”

“It could happen. Remember that one time Hurriet found a match in just a few minutes?”

“Nope.” She eyed him. “Are you losing your mind too, Slick? That was a mixup.”

“A beautiful dream,” he agreed, draining his coffee cup. “When are they going to make a cop drama that shows the realities of detective work? CSI: Paperwork.”

“Nah, they’d give it an edgier name. Something that sounds interesting if you don’t know the material. _Waiting._ Or maybe _Processing.”_

“Wish Fangmeyer would give us back our other cases,” he said. He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up properly. It only made his eyes itchy.

“This is our focus.” Her ears drooped. “But yeah, so do I. We were sitting on those, too, but at least it would be waiting for something _different._ Do you ever miss the beat?”

He chewed on the thought for a minute before answering, “Not as such. I miss being busy, but I’m better suited to finding out what went wrong and why. Mammals still don’t trust a fox enforcer, but a detective…it doesn’t matter who does the job so long as it gets done. I just get antsy when I don’t have much work to do. I’ve been working hard every day since I was just a kit. Never thought I’d say it, but I don’t like getting paid to sit around.”

“I know. I feel like we should be out knocking on doors or…something. Anything.”

“We can discuss the murders themselves,” he suggested, uninvested in the thought but unable to think of anything better. “I mean, it _is_ telling that we can’t find any of the witnesses. Savage must be cleaning up after himself now that he knows we’re onto him.”

“And it was definitely a him? No chance it was a her?”

“Trust me, Carrots, my nose doesn’t lie. Whoever this Jack Savage is, it’s not Leapyear’s Hunter.”

“So it’s an alias.” Her nose stopped twitching. “Or…can you smell when someone’s doing hormone therapy?”

He blinked, considering. “You mean like – for transitioning? No idea. If I’ve ever smelled it before, I don’t know. It’s not like a reasonable mammal walks up to someone and asks that. Even I’m not that much of a dick.”

“That’s like the bare minimum of non-dickery, but I wasn’t asking if you went around being rude, I was asking if you could smell it. Maybe it’s the same bunny after all. You did say he had the same white fur and stripes. What about the eyes? Were they blue?”

“I don’t know. It was dark.”

She raised a brow. “You brag about your night vision all the time.”

“Yes, night _vision,_ not night _discernment._ I can navigate in the dark, but it doesn’t look the same. That I picked up as many details as I did was only due to that ocelot’s flashlight.” And here, Nick saw the pulsing arterial spray, the dark amusement on Savage’s face, the way the bunny failed to _smile –_

“Just breathe, Nick,” Judy said from very far away.

He opened his eyes – when had he closed them? – to a very concerned-looking partner, and searched fruitlessly for an explanation. He had none. He went for a joke instead. “I’m training for a deep-dive competition. Don’t ruin my regimen.”

“Yeah, okay.” He refused to try to interpret the vague look on her face. “Do you know if we have an ID for the vic yet?”

Bless her for not asking.

“They called in Flitzen and his merry band of underlings to help with blood work, but no, nothing yet. There probably won’t be a missing mammals report filed, either. For intimidation jobs, Big likes to take on mammals who don’t have many ties, though. Less questions if they disappear, and family’s important to him. At least there’s that, right?”

“He’s a bad mammal. Ugh, that’s not right. He’s not evil. It’s just that with everything else going on right now, knowing Savage has gone rogue, we can’t be sure all of this even has anything to do with him, but we can’t afford to assume it has nothing to do with him. Best case scenario, one of his assets has gone rogue. Paul will have him taken out before we can arrest him, and we return as failures, but there’s no chance of a security leak about…you know, us. Our history. Jack Savage becomes a cold case, but he’s not a threat. Worst case scenario, we arrest Savage and he spills everything. From what you told me, it doesn’t seem likely he would, but who knows what mammals will do when they think they’ve got a chance to avoid punishment. Most realistic scenario, we find him, he doesn’t come quietly, and one of us has to kill him.”

“I think it’s bizarre that we’re still lead on this case,” he admitted, deciding not to think about the violent scenario. He preferred not to be put in that situation in the first place, because there would be no winners; he certainly didn’t want to have to kill someone, but the alternative was leaving it to Judy, and she already had enough problems.

She leaned on her paw and looked at him sideways. “Why’s that surprising? We’re the only ones who know for sure that there is a Jack at all. Even if that’s not his real name. I’m more willing to bet it’s an alias.”

He agreed, but he wanted to hear her thoughts. “How come?”

“Just…the way Leapyear described her partner. Jack Savage the Hunter sounded kind of…socially awkward. The bears described them as twitchy and quiet. Does that sound like the kind of mammal who would taunt a cop? I’ve been thinking about it, and there are a lot of reasons for Savage – the real one – to work for Paul, but I can’t imagine killing mammals would make anyone _less_ jumpy.”

“I was thinking the same thing. So, then, maybe we shouldn’t focus on Jack Savage the mammal and just focus on the bunny who’s doing this. Pretend we never got the lead. It leads us back to the beginning, but Jacqueline A. Savage, ex-Hunter for Mammalia, could just be a dead end.”

“I feel like there’s something right in front of us. Something in the photos. If I could just figure out what it _is,_ maybe we could have an actual lead.”

“I know what you mean,” he answered, surprised and chilled all at once. She was echoing his thoughts from days ago, but there went that clunk again. “The first time I looked, I noticed there was something funny. It’s too pretty. …Like it’s _staged._ A snuff film, but not exactly that…what am I trying to say?”

“That Savage is a creepy motherthumper?” She shook her head. “These are violent enough that he’d want to get out as soon as possible. Cleanup would be hard enough if he wanted to _hide_ the bodies; setting the scene afterward, setting up that kind of tableau, with enough sharp-nosed mammals around at any given time would be a stupid move. He’s probably just good at staying clean. You said he was wearing a suit, right?”

“Custom-made. It was a lion cut, unless I miss my guess.”

“Which you wouldn’t, because you’ve saved me from making some truly horrifying fashion mistakes. One of these days you’re going to tell me why you could explain to me what a sweetheart neckline is and you knew immediately that my dress was a knock-off, but you still choose to wear those godawful shirt-and-tie combos on your off-hours.”

“I’m a fox of mystery. Anyway, why’d you ask about the suit?”

“Oh, I thought you could maybe identify the retailer, but I guess that’s a no-go. The custom angle’s a good one, though. How many shops in Zootopia could make a lion-cut suit for a bunny?”

“Shops? Twelve, unless one opened or closed recently. Independent tailors? Probably thirty, but if we discount anyone who hasn’t done work for Mr. Big, maybe ten. We can’t ignore the possibility that Savage made it himself, as unlikely as that is.”

“Why would it be unlikely?”

He laughed. “They don’t sell patterns for that kind of thing, Carrots. He’d have to have studied enough to know how to make his own pattern, use the right stitching, and get the sizing right. He’d also need to have enough money to purchase the right material and thread, plus buttons, which are harder to sew evenly than you’d ever think, and of course it’s _possible,_ but if you do all the cutting and piecing together by paw, even an experienced tailor would need…a couple of weeks to make a suit of that quality.”

“So you could see the quality of the stitching, but not his eyes?”

“No, I couldn’t see the stitching.” Was it just him, or was the room getting hotter? “I just know things. I know how I’d stitch it if I wanted those lines.”

“Sometimes I think you must be some kind of mutant, Nick,” she told him very seriously.

“Why?”

“Because it seems like there’s nothing you don’t know.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but Wolford stuck his nose in the room and said in his thick country accent, “Hopps. Got a favor to ask. Wilde, you too, I guess.”

Judy traded a quick glance with him before saying, “We do have a free moment. What’s the favor?”

“We got to the bottom of that heroin distribution case we were looking into last time you and I went to the Fanged Barrel, but they’re small mammals. We’ve got to bring them in, but I’m not in a hurry to be accused of police brutality when they fight back. Better to send in someone more their size.”

“So you just want us to make an arrest. Sounds okay, if we clear it with Fangmeyer.”

“They said I could have you as long as I give you back. We won’t be ready to move for another week, we still have a guy on the inside getting info about any leaders or affiliates we don’t know about yet, but I want to brief you and give you the relevant intel so you’re prepped when it’s time. This office reeks. Follow me to mine and I’ll give you the files.”

Nick and Judy slid from the chair and followed Wolford. Nick didn’t know much about the Lieutenant, other than that he was a wolf and had grown up in the same county Judy had in a small town called Meadowbrook. Wolford and Judy hadn’t met before she had joined the ZPD, but Nick knew sometimes they went out for drinks to (presumably) reminisce about all the perks of country living. He hadn’t yet learned of any perks, but then, he had never been able to sleep in Bunnyburrow with its disturbing lack of noise and the overpowering scent of unwashed bunny everywhere. Not to mention he and Judy always shared a bed while they stayed there, and even before he had realized his…feelings…for her, that had made him hyper-aware and bristly. The nuzzling and squirming were old hat now, but the last time they’d gone to Bunnyburrow, he hadn’t been nearly as accustomed.

Had it really been three years? They were due for another visit.

Wolford’s office was decorated in the same way that Wolford tended to live his life. There was a fake potted plant gathering dust in the corner, a filing cabinet filled with empty file folders, and an impressive number of take-out bags folded and stacked neatly at the edge of his desk. His computer was one of the newest models the ZPD had gotten their paws on, which meant it was about five years old, but whether Gosling’s ranting about the inferior OS was fact or elitism, Nick couldn’t possibly hazard a guess.

The Lieutenant sat stiffly and looked at them carefully. Where Fangmeyer had accepted him into zoicide with open arms, Nick got the feeling that Wolford’s thoughts about him were much less charitable. Wolford first addressed Judy directly. “Hopps, I hear you’re in negotiations with Castleberry.”

“Who told you that? It’s…mostly untrue.”

“Mostly? Calling into the station isn’t exactly subtle. Everyone who’s anyone knows what that means.”

Judy pushed herself up on her toes. It did little to make her look bigger, but it seemed to make her more confident. “She’s been after me since I graduated, but she’s gotten really aggressive lately. We _are_ negotiating, but it’s not what it looks like. I’ve managed to convince them to borrow me for one job and then leave me alone. That’s all I want from them. I’m happy being a detective.”

“So I can count on you to be available next week?”

“And every other week until I retire or die,” she replied with a smile.

Nick made a mental note to ask who Castleberry was. Clearly she was more than a college friend.

“Right. Good. Let’s get to it, then. We borrowed a lynx from the MBI to help with infiltration when we realized our target group was made up of small mammals, and he’s still in there, but he’s not our priority. He wrangled himself an assignment for Sunday night, so he’s clearing out then and keeping watch until we’re ready to move Monday morning. We want this as nonviolent as possible, but we’ve managed to find out who’s most likely to fight back. This is Luna Wilde – no relation to our Wilde, obviously.” Wolford showed them a photo of a brown hare. No relation indeed. A lynx’s photo came next. “This is Pawlee Jacobs. They’re both decent shots, which is the other reason I want you on this, Hopps. Take them out if you think they’re even _thinking_ about going for their weapons. Finally, this is Gregory Plumberg. He’s handy with all kinds of blades, but our contact on the inside has never seen him touch a gun.”

Nick exchanged a startled glance with Judy and said, hesitantly, “He won’t be a problem. That’s the ocelot our mass killer just clawed to death.”

“Good, one less scatmouth to deal with,” replied Wolford with no hesitation. Still, Nick could tell he wasn’t comfortable with the thought that their cases had any overlap at all. Neither was Nick, if he was honest. “We’ll be sending you in first, but once you’ve gotten these two out of the way, it seems likely the others will come quietly. Half the mammals at their HQ are perpetually drugged up anyway. You can use your tranqs for the underlings if they come after you. To be honest, I don’t expect Wilde or Jacobs to fight back, not after our lynx has been talking up Hopps. They seem to think the hero bunny is secretly a monster who will shoot first and never ask questions, and Talon – that’s our insider’s name – only got away because she didn’t have her partner to sniff out his hiding spot. You’ll be armored and we’ll have backup on-site, but of everyone I know, you two get the most work done with the least force. We have a chance to bring in everyone. That’s what we want here.”

“Understood. Do you have any intel on the layout? We can study the photos or blueprints or whatever and come up with a strategy by then,” Nick said.

Wolford’s stare was uncomfortable, but Nick forced himself not to move. The wolf nodded, satisfied. “We have the original blueprints plus Talon’s descriptions of the interior, but no photos. You can take this folder with you. It has all the pertinent information, and they’re copies, so you don’t need to worry about keeping it here. I know you both take your work home with you.”

“Sir, I just have to ask…why wait until now to talk to us about this if you’ve been planning it for as long as it seems like you have?” Judy’s nose twitched. “I’m not saying no, but I just…this isn’t a lot of time to prepare.”

“It was touch and go for a while. We weren’t sure we even had the right mammals, and then once we were sure, we thought our inside mammal was compromised. We decided it was better not to put something else on your plate until we knew we needed you. And frankly, I had to fight to get you onboard at all. We had a few complaints about Wilde.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Complaints from _whom?”_

“The usual suspects. Brackwood, Heather, Finchley. I had the Chief put them in their place, but I have my own doubts about Wilde. You need a partner, which is why I’m allowing him on this operation, but I need to have that clear and out in the open.”

“What, exactly, do you have against me, Sir,” Nick asked through gritted teeth.

“It’s not hard to see where your loyalties lie,” replied the wolf, shifting his gaze briefly to Judy beside him. “You have proven that you can do your job. Hopps trusts you. Can you trust Hopps to do _her_ job and not get in the way?”

“Excuse me?”

“If she is required to take down two targets who are coming at her – and if they decide to attack anyone, it _will_ be her, as per our design – can you be trusted to hang back and not put yourself in unnecessary danger? This is not zoicide, Detective. If you rut this up, it’s more than just your lives at risk. Some of those drugged-up mammals are live _victims._ I have my doubts about your objectivity, given your history, but I’m willing to shelve those if you give me your word that you will follow orders.”

If it were Fangmeyer, Nick might reply with a quip, maybe _better Hopps than me,_ but Wolford was an entirely different animal. They had neither the history nor the rapport that would make a comment like that okay. Although it set his teeth on edge and his tail to bristling, he said, “I won’t get in the way.”

“Good. Monday morning, report directly to me. In the meantime, go over the information I gave you. Dismissed.”

“Sir,” he and Judy both said, and Nick reached up above his head to turn the knob. Judy would have had to jump. Even Wolford was only at eye level with it. Offices were necessarily made for megafauna, which was half the reason small mammals rarely bothered to apply to the ZPA. Scrubbing out due to size was more humiliating than scrubbing out due to inability. It gave you the feeling that you were just naturally inferior. Nick was intimately familiar with that one.

“Good job staying quiet in there,” he said, watching Judy stride stiffly back and forth once they’d reached their office.

“I mean, when you and I met, I had every right to hate you on a personal level,” she seethed, “but what have you ever done to _them?”_

“Wait, whoa, hold up.” She paused and turned to look at him. He wasn’t sure what she was feeling. For that matter, he wasn’t sure what _he_ was feeling either. “You had _every right_ to hate me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What, tricking me into spending money I couldn’t spare on a cause that wasn’t real, calling me cute, trying to ruin my only chance to be a cop, being a gigantic annoying jerk, and then threatening me with violence wasn’t enough? You’re lucky I was a prejudiced piece of garbage, Nick, because I wouldn’t have had nearly as much restraint without that guilt about it.” She laughed, apparently unaware of his confusion and hurt. That wasn’t a surprise, though. She had a gift for poking at wounds neither of them were aware of. “If you’d been another bunny, I’d have popped you in the teeth, probably. I didn’t hate you, but given history, it would have made more sense.”

“Okay, one, I didn’t threaten you. Ever. Two-”

“That’s patently false. When we were at that stupid press conference, after I said those terrible things, you _came at me._ Claws out, teeth out, shouting at me. This handsome, funny mammal who’d proven invaluable, if kind of dickish, just turned on me. I’d known you for, what, three days? Three days, and all I really knew about you was that you were a professional liar, possibly a career criminal, and you maybe cared enough about doing the right thing – for whatever reasons – to stand up to Bogo for me, even though at the time I suspected you just wanted to give him lip for doubting your word because of your species. You told me a secret, and I thought you were…beginning to like me. But then instead of talking to me, you came at me. I know _now_ that you were all words, but then? When I’d only had three days of utterly demeaning nicknames? Three days of doubt and disrespect? Is there any other way I could have interpreted that, other than a violent threat?”

“Maybe – I wouldn’t know, the only times anyone’s ever threatened me, they followed through pretty damn quick, if they bothered to threaten at all. And demeaning nicknames? Seriously?”

“Calling a bunny cute is offensive, Nick, and you know it. It’s degrading, to have everything you’ve worked for, everything you think and believe and feel, boiled down to what you look like. Look at that cute little face! Just like a child! I didn’t choose to be a rabbit. I didn’t choose to look this way. You called me a _stuffed animal_ and told me to _get back to my box._ Just like the old days, right? Little bunny belongs in…but why would that matter to you? You didn’t know me. I let it go because I felt guilty for profiling you, but you had to have known what you were doing. What that would do to me. Any other bunny would have been afraid for her life. Why else would you say it?”

“I don’t know, maybe because you were coming after me? Threatening to take away my livelihood? Why would that make you fear for your life? Sarcasm kills now?”

“You know why. Stop playing stupid. I know you’re not, you know you’re not, and frankly, I don’t want to have this discussion with you. Not now, not after we just…I thought we were past this. I don’t care that you never apologized, because I fell in love with you anyway, and I don’t care that you don’t seem to think it’s a big deal, because I trust you. But I gotta say, Nick, the pretense is a little insulting. Or maybe you just think I won’t notice, because I’m just a _dumb bunny.”_

At that, all the anger went out of him. “You don’t really think I think that…do you?”

She huffed. “Not usually, no, but I know my limitations. I believe what you say, but with all the scat that gets thrown around the station about the both of us, I sometimes have my doubts. When you laugh at their jokes, I wonder. I can tell when someone is lying by comparing their resting heart rate to the one they have when they’re talking to me, but that’s not one hundred percent. There are hundreds of reasons someone’s heart rate could pick up. And lying is a fiddly thing. The only thing that separates an untruth from a lie is that a mammal knows when they’re lying; the guilt and fear of getting caught make those chemical changes, not the lie itself.”

“You’re smart. And capable. If anything, you’re the one who makes the most jokes about being a dumb bunny. I _don’t_ think that. I would never. I don’t know where all of this is coming from, but I’m more concerned that it took us six years to get here.”

“I didn’t know it wasn’t over,” she said quietly, and he preferred the harshness from before. “I didn’t know you didn’t think it was important. You’re my treasure. You’re special. I made it a priority to learn as much as I could about you, so that I wouldn’t misstep again. So I don’t ever expect an apology from you for anything, certainly not for something that happened so long ago, but I had no idea that you didn’t think I deserved one.”

The problem was that he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to apologize _for._ He could sort of see the logic in being afraid of his actions – in this context, he could see why she’d think he was threatening her instead of making a point – but she wasn’t the kind of mammal who scared easily, and she wasn’t the kind of mammal who took things to heart. He knew that her whole life, she’d been told _bunnies don’t,_ and she’d shrugged her shoulders, cracked her knuckles, and bent reality to her will. Furthermore, he’d thought that he had more than proved himself during those three days. He hadn’t called her cute more than a couple of times, and yeah, he’d been hindering her at first, but as soon as he’d seen the damage Otterton had done to the car, he had taken it seriously. He’d opened up to her, and she’d betrayed him. Unintentionally, yes, but it hadn’t felt that way at the time. Why hadn’t she trusted him? Why hadn’t she gotten the point of his little demonstration? “Did you really think I was going to hurt you?”

Her look softened. “Yeah, I did, but that wasn't what made me go for the nearest weapon, at least not exactly. I’ve been trained to deal aggressively with physical threats. When you’re up against opponents that are much bigger, you have to neutralize them as quickly as possible. You know that; you went through the same training I did. But even though you were bigger than me, I knew you weren’t going to win in a fight, and I didn’t really want to hurt you. That was what saved you from getting aerosolized capsaicin in your eyes. I _liked_ you, as annoying and hurtful as you’d been. Working with you was a rush. It was fun, and dangerous, and somehow I knew you would have my back. So instead of attacking you, I went for a nonstandard approach, even though I wasn’t even really seeing you, I was seeing…somebody else.”

The pieces finally fit together. “Gideon.”

“Where did you hear that name,” she asked sharply.

“Your mom mentioned him. Seemed to think you’d have told me already. Something about being clawed, which you told me was an incident with a _rake.”_

“I didn’t want my past to come between us. I’m over it now. I just…had to get some perspective. Not thinking about something isn’t the same as not being affected by it.”

He frowned. “What _happened,_ Judy? You’re not the kind of mammal who lets a childhood bully ruin her life.”

“He only bullied me because I hurt him,” she admitted, avoiding his eyes. “We were best friends at first. I was a weird kit. Reading early, good at everything academic, but not great at making friends. I hated farming and had weird goals…I wanted to be Nancy Shrew, and he followed me on all my silly adventures spying on the adults who were totally up to something. But his parents were killed by bigoted cops, and when I said I wanted to be one, he took it hard. He said police were evil and he didn’t want his friend to be evil. His foster parents heard that last part and told my parents, and my grandpa told me foxes were the evil ones, and when I went to patch things up with him I made it worse. He wouldn’t leave me alone after that, always calling me dumb or telling me he’d eat me like a carrot, and I said some pretty nasty things too. He wasn’t smart, but he was smart enough to know that, and I used it against him. I knew he was just saying stuff, but then when he actually clawed me…he held me down. He was so much _bigger._ He said I wouldn’t ever be anything more than a _stupid carrot-farming dumb bunny_ and hit my head on the ground. It was scary to see my friend get violent. For all that he’d given me a hard time, I had never, _ever_ expected him to hurt me, not like that.”

He didn’t know what to do with himself. Was he supposed to move closer? Stay back? What was he supposed to say? Was anything he could say good enough? He had never, until the day prior, asked himself what could have made Judy afraid of him. It had always just been a given that he was a fox, so that must have been the reason. But Bonnie had mentioned that she and Stu had enforced Judy’s fear of foxes to try to help her heal, and her grandfather had told her flat-out that foxes were evil, and what had he done? Told her she couldn’t be anything but a carrot farmer and called her a dumb bunny. History had repeated itself, and maybe she had bought into the stereotypes, but he wasn’t sure he could blame her for it anymore.

Fortunately, Judy made the decision for him. She moved in close, wrapped her arms around him, and nuzzled into his chest like she did when she was trying to be as direct as possible. “I love you, Nick, never forget that. And I believe you when you say you love me. Don’t let this get inside your head. I’m just stupid when it comes to dealing with stuff. I’m in a bad place and I took it out on you, and I’m sorry.”

He closed his eyes and inhaled her scent. It was a comfort thing, a reminder that regardless of what had come before, she had chosen him. “You don’t have to apologize. One of these days we have to have a real conversation about the things we’ve never said, because I don’t want them to cause problems later down the line. But that’s not on you, it’s on both of us.”

She reached up and tugged on his tie, bringing him down to eye level, their muzzles a hair’s breadth away from each other. It was erotic and weird to share the same air like that and it would have been so easy to close the gap, but he didn’t. He wanted their first kiss to be her choice. He wanted what she wanted when she wanted it.

“Right, we said we were waiting,” she murmured, and let go of him, smoothing the wrinkles from his shirt.

It was more disappointing than he expected.

* * *

Nick’s original plan was to go home and Zoogle the history of bunnies on his phone, to see what she’d meant by _bunnies belong in,_ but the events of that night made him forget about everything.

He and Judy went to the Henhouse. Judy ordered her salad, Nick ordered a grilled vegetable dish, and they discussed the case. They may not have made a lot of headway, but after their little fight, it had been easy enough to slip back into detective mode, and they’d decided to approach the case in a new way. Typing in a list of common bunny surnames into the Muzzlebook search engine had proven fruitless, but they were going to try again with the less-common ones and see what came up on other social media sites as well. In the meantime, they wanted to go over strategies for Wolford’s assignment.

“It’s going to be obvious we’re cops,” he said, wondering idly what was taking so long. Usually they were served by the twenty-minute mark. “I don’t think subtlety is going to work.”

“No, but I want to at least try and find a way in and surprise them. Scentblock is fiendishly expensive, or I’d suggest we use it.”

“Scentblock? Is that the same thing Savage used in the tunnelway? I’ve never heard of it.”

She tapped a nail on the table. “You wouldn’t have. An animal with no scent is either law enforcement or up to no good, so it’s mostly used by the MBI – or the MIA, I guess – on secret operations. We don’t learn about it in the ZPA, so unless you were deep into the criminal element, which I know you weren’t, I wouldn’t expect you to know about a restricted-access substance.”

“Why do _you_ know about it,” he asked skeptically.

“I did some extra work. Arms training, that sort of thing. It came up then.” _Clunk._ “Anyway, to answer your question, it probably is the same stuff Savage used, though with this many kills, he’s probably broke by now. Three hundred dollars per bottle, and a bunny needs two bottles to get covered in it. That’s six hundred per kill, so times twenty is twelve thousand, plus let’s say three thousand more if we assume we’ve missed five bodies, plus sales tax…so times eight-point-nine percent, which comes out to just over thirteen hundred, so all together that’s just over sixteen thousand dollars. That’s around eight thousand dollars per year that he’s been active, so assuming he has a crappy apartment and eats like a bunny, he’d have to make around nineteen thousand per year just to make ends meet, equal to twelve _x_ …just under seventeen hundred per month after taxes. We could be talking a regular mammal with a day job, but let's be real: these kills aren't random, even if we're not sure what the pattern is yet. He's also really good at covering his tracks, which implies either a reasonable amount of intelligence or specific education. He either has a job that pays a good amount for part-time work or he’s not rogue and Paul’s paying for it. Either way, he’s funded better than most bunnies in the city, which makes sense, considering his clothing. What? Stop staring at me, it’s weird.”

“How do you _do_ that?”

“Do what,” she asked, shifting in her seat.

“I could barely keep up with your figures, you were talking so fast. You did that in your head?”

“Well it’s just adding in groups. It’s not exactly complex math.”

“I guess,” he said doubtfully. “So if we assume he makes  at _least_ twenty-five hundred per month, just to account for emergency funds or fun money, that limits the jobs he can reasonably hold part-time in a city that thinks bunnies belong on a farm. The kills aren't random but the kill times are, so we can’t rule out day shifts or night shifts, but we know he’s not leaving work on his lunch break and coming back afterward.”

“Yeah, someone would notice the lack of scent and ask him about it, and they’d end up dead, probably. The mammals we’ve found were between impoverished and middle-class income, but elite companies make noise about missing or dead workers, so we’d know.”

“He could be working a…criminal avenue,” he suggested delicately. “Dealing drugs isn’t lucrative, but being a supplier is a different story. Or he could be embezzling from the chain diner where he waits tables, and wears the scentblock so that nobody puts together that he’s in food services. And there’s always the Big angle to consider.”

“I honestly don’t think Paul’s funding him, though. He seemed happy that we’re going after Savage. And we’re talking about our case. Again. We’re supposed to be talking about Wolford’s case. Where’s our food, anyway?”

Their server approached their table at that moment with their food and a strained smile. In a low voice, she said, “Please read my note before you dig in.” She raised her voice. “Enjoy, loves!”

“That was weird,” Judy said. It was true. Nick took the receipt, which wasn’t a receipt at all, but a note in shaky handwriting.

_Officers,_

_There’s a rabbit in the back. He has my daughter and a gun. He said if I didn’t poison your food he’d kill her. I only pretended to obey him. Please do something, but quietly._

_Mel_

He met Judy’s eyes and nodded once, letting her know he was with her. She leaned forward. “I just texted Palmer and Fanymeyer. They’ll send backup. In the meantime, we’ll have to be silent. And we’ll have to kill him, potentially in front of a child. I want you to get over to her and cover her eyes when I shoot.”

“When _you_ shoot?” He frowned. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, resolute. “I know how bunnies move, and I’m…certified. Like I said, I had some extra training. It won’t kill me, Nick, but I know it would hurt you, and that just might.”

“Sap.”

“Time-waster.”

“Okay, listen. We’ll go around back where the dumpsters are. If he’s got the gun to the little one’s head, we find a way to sneak in. If he doesn’t, I’ll climb in through the window while you kick in the door. Give him _one_ chance, but then aim to kill, Carrots. We don’t want any civilian casualties.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” she said cheekily, and he saw her turn into…something else. He’d seen it before, on other cases, but it was stark this time. She was excited. Thrilled, even. He couldn’t imagine why. She was preparing to shoot another living, breathing mammal. Who would be excited about that?

Nick followed Judy out the front door and around the corner. The back door was propped open with a brick, so they tiptoed – Nick kept his claws off the pavement, which was uncomfortable, but worth it – around to the window. Peering in, he could see the back of a white bunny’s head, ears turned toward the young deer. The child was chattering about something and the bunny, which had to be Savage, was nodding along. It was just…wrong. There was something fundamentally wrong with a mass killer playing on the floor with a child.

At least he didn’t have a gun to her head. In fact, his weapon was holstered. Was it arrogance or a trap?

Judy motioned at him to climb through the gap under the window, but he didn’t want to start until she burst through the door. Bunnies had excellent hearing, but Savage would likely focus on her while Nick got to the child. He hoped she wouldn’t struggle as he tried to shield her.

When Judy burst through the door, making a big enough ruckus that Nick could slip undetected through the window, he was surprised to hear what she said. “You rutting scatmouth, you killed my partner!”

He hoped, absurdly, that they wouldn’t get into too much trouble for swearing in front of the server’s daughter.

Savage turned around and drew his weapon, pointing it at Judy. Nick took the opportunity to creep around the edge of the room toward the little doe. As he did so, Savage replied, “Well, I suppose one of you is better than neither. Too bad it was Wilde, though. I liked him. Kind of a coward, but lots of spunk. If I must fight one of you, I’d rather it be him. Oh, well.”

“Shut your mouth, Savage. Drop your weapon and get on the ground, or I’ll make you watch with your right eye as I _eat_ your left.”

“You really are something.” Savage dropped his gun and kicked it toward Judy. “By all means, Detective, take me in. I’ve done nothing wrong. It’s not illegal to own a firearm if you’re licensed to carry. I only entertained this little one for a bit while her mother was working…and apparently murdering your partner. With her history of being skittish around predators, I’m not surprised. My name is Will Pawlish, and I think you’ll find that I’ll be out of custody within hours.”

“I’ll take my chances,” she said darkly, “although to be honest I was hoping I’d get to shoot you. Put your paws behind your back and kneel.”

“Oof. I knew you were kinky, but a stranger? Really?”

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…”

Nick tuned out the recitation once the zip ties were on and Judy had a firm grip on Savage. Instead, he focused on the shaking child in his arms.

“Thank you,” she said, and smiled at her.

“We’re officers of the law. We wouldn’t let a nice gal like you get hurt.”

“That lady was scary. I’m glad she’s gone.”

Nick’s smile slid off his muzzle. Judy _had_ been scary, though probably not for the reasons the child assumed. He hoped that excitement was gone. “Let’s go find your mother. Show her you’re okay. I’m going to get some of my friends to come and make sure you’ll stay that way.”

“Will you stay with me?”

The innocent question made him warm on the inside. Prey never wanted him close. “Sure. Come on, Sweetheart, I bet you want to see your mom.”

He heard the sound of sirens in the distance, and knew that things were looking up.

* * *

“Son of a motherthumper!”

…Or not.

“Calm down, Carrots,” he warned.

“I _can’t!_ He told us he’d be out in hours. I didn’t listen. I should have shot him, protocols be damned. I should have killed him where he stood, and I was stupid and sentimental and now he’s back on the streets!”

“And you’d be out of a job, maybe even with criminal charges. He came quietly. We had nothing on him. That's his real name, too, so there's no tie to Jack Savage. There wasn’t even poison in that food, so that’s another bust. All we have is witness testimony from a frazzled server and a child who thought you were scarier than he was. We knew that going in.”

She slammed her tiny paw against the desk and he jumped a bit. He’d seen her angry, but never like this, never willing to do damage to herself and innocent tables. _“I don’t care._ Getting him off the streets is more important. Did you see the crime scene photos? _Did you?_ He’s a monster!”

“Yes, I saw them. You think I’m not upset? But punching desks and shouting won’t solve any problems. You’re only hurting yourself.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather hurt _him.”_ She breathed in through her teeth. “I need to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He snorted. “You think I’m just going to let you go home alone when you’re like this?”

“I won’t be alone, I’ll be with Kit. And Evangeline if she’s home too.” She clenched her paws and added, “I need this.”

His heart sank as the reality of the situation hit him. “You’d rather see her than be with me?”

“Don’t be dramatic, Nick, I’d rather beat her than yell at you. She’s been asking for a session anyway, and I’ll run home so it’s out of my system.”

“We just had a discussion, _this morning,_ about how we’d get our heads screwed on properly and maybe try… _why_ would you do this? I don’t understand,” he said, unable to see her reasoning. Wasn’t he enough?

“I wasn’t aware that loving you and working with Kit were mutually exclusive. Are you saying you’d rather I bend you over a desk? Are you offering? Are you saying you’d let me restrain you and let me hear you beg? Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” he snapped, and she went quiet, halting her angry pacing. “God, Judy, is that what _you_ want? To…tie me up? To get violent with me? Is that what I’m supposed to expect from you if we move forward?”

“I would never do anything to you that you didn’t agree to. You know that. I’ve thought about it. Fantasized, even. But that’s Kit’s thing. She texts me sometimes asking for it. Sometimes I ask her. Right now? When I’m so angry I could break something? It’s not the time for _us_ to be having this discussion. You and I aren’t together, as per _your_ suggestion, so what I do with my time is none of your damn business.”

“Go play with your toys, then,” he said uncharitably, refusing to look at her. “Call me when you think I’m enough for you.”

Judy stormed out, but Nick didn’t feel the vindication he’d expected. He felt like he’d lost an opportunity. He felt like he’d been unnecessarily nasty for no reason other than to be nasty. He felt ugly inside, and he wondered if that wasn’t what the entirety of the day had been about. Now that they knew where they stood…

Were they pushing each other away on purpose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate writing interpersonal conflict, but Nick's past and his tendency to avoid intimacy he can't control are part of him. Plus, there were some problems with the movie that never got addressed. That press conference scene and the subsequent apology scene piss me off so much. Nick wasn't wrong to feel hurt and betrayed after everything Judy said, but, well. "Forgiving" her was not the kind, magnanimous gesture it was supposed to be, and I explain why during their fight.


	6. A Weirder Shade of What

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Judy hammer some things out. A lot of things, actually. Assumptions are the worst, but when they're all you have to go on, what can you do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have apparently been giving the wrong impression. This is above all a romantic comedy, or at least, a comedy with romance in it. There is necessarily some “angst” because they are detectives trying to catch a dangerous killer while sorting out their personal lives, and that kind of thing is stressful and scary. Intimacy may be the most terrifying thing in the entire universe, especially when you’re a control freak like Nick (read: me), but part of what I’m making fun of here is the glamorization of serial killers. Like they’re not different. They’re not special. I legit did not know that Thomas Harris’ series about Hannibal Lecter wasn’t a comedy until someone told me, because Lecter seemed like a caricature. “Warped” is a fair assessment of my sense of humor. So knowing that, please don’t take this story too seriously. My premise is absurd to begin with, which I assumed would set the mood, but perhaps I overestimated my ability to tell narrative jokes.
> 
> IMPORTANT: This chapter was actually the first one I ever wrote, back before I even had a username here, and it didn't have any context. The first five chapters were a vehicle to get here, so if this seems incongruous, that's why. I hope it doesn't.

“Will Pawlish is forty, white-furred, and yes, well-funded. He’s a director for Disney. Scat on toast, this arrest was a colossal mistake. Their lawyers will be on us forever,” Nick said, rubbing his eyes. They itched again, because he’d not been sleeping well, but that was probably normal. Six years with Judy and they’d only had three fights, which meant that he’d been worrying for days (probably unnecessarily) over six years’ worth of what probably wasn’t even misery. She didn’t seem that affected, but then, _she’d_ had an outlet for her anger.

 _Jealousy is unbecoming_ was something his mother had always told him, and he tried to live by it. Not because she’d said it, but because jealousy was a toxic emotion, and Nick tried to avoid toxicity like he’d avoid a brushfire. This thing he had with Judy, this friendship, was solid. He needed to stop being afraid of losing her, because she had promised time after time that she wasn’t going anywhere.

So for the time being, he was going to assume that most mammals were out to get him, but Judy would have his back. She was _different._ Their partnership, he knew, meant as much to her as it did to him.

“But why would he go off and kill randomly,” asked Judy, playing with her straw. The remains of their takeout were spread out on the desk and all that was left was her drink, which she was nursing like a glass of good ale. Nick didn’t really get it, since it was only lemonade. “He has a good job, and maybe Paul asked him to off a few mammals, but that can’t really make you develop a taste for it, right?”

“Maybe he already liked the idea of killing, and working for Mr. Big just gave him the permission and practice he needed to get good at it. The directing background makes the photos make sense, though. He’s an artsy little scatheap. Probably didn’t even need to set the scene afterward, if he was careful enough.”

“And we’re _sure_ that Pawlish is Jack Savage?” She gazed at the door thoughtfully, and he wondered what she was imagining. “From what you remember, do they match? Physically, I mean.”

“I _remember_ the voice. That’s…not good enough for a court of law, but the way he spoke to me in the tunnelway…I’ll never forget that. I didn’t see his face long enough to catch his expressions at the diner, but he had this smile that wasn’t a smile.”

“Like he knew how to do it, but had no idea why anyone would.” Judy nodded. “Yeah, I saw that too. What I _didn’t_ see was the stripe pattern you mentioned. Why do you think he sought us out, Nick? It doesn’t make sense. None of this does.”

“It does seem rash, but killers like Pawlish aren’t rational. They kill for reasons that a rational mammal can’t understand. Most of our perps, the ones who murder one mammal in a fit of anger or who kill because they’re desperate, are easier to understand because they think the same way we do. They feel the same things we do. Pawlish is different, that’s obvious enough, so we shouldn’t bother trying to get into his head unless we have to. Our job is to bring him in with enough evidence for a conviction. It’s the defense attorney’s job to make sense of all the kook.”

“But do you think he had a reason? Was he trying to trap us? Find out how we’d react? It may not be our job to understand him, but if we don’t have any clue at all, we won’t be able to catch him or avoid his little games.”

“I think he just wanted to hurt us, to be honest.” Nick shrugged and draped his muzzle across his arms, which were folded on the desk in front of him. “Some mammals just like causing pain.”

“Like me,” she replied quietly. “I like causing pain. I never realized it until I met Kit and Evangeline, but I do. What does that say about me?”

“Nothing,” he told her firmly, “other than that you have different tastes than most other mammals. You’re not like Pawlish, Carrots. If you were, you’d understand why he does the things he does.”

That, at least, Nick knew for certain. It had taken some careful thought and embarrassingly specific Zoogle searches that had left him more excited than disgusted, which he’d take to his _grave,_ but he now had a better understanding: some mammals were sadistic, and that didn’t make them bad. They just kept quiet so that they wouldn’t be lumped in with violent psychopaths and sex criminals. Judy had made it clear that what she did was deliberately consensual, and that was the biggest difference between the kind of pain she inflicted and the kind of pain Pawlish liked. Well, that and the lack of murder.

Nobody could consent to being murdered. Even assisted suicide was still only legal in a couple of regions in Mammalia.

“Do you think we can still investigate him? On the sly, I mean. There’s nothing illegal about being thorough. We may never get through their lawyers – unless by some miracle Disney decides to fire him for being investigated, he loses access to their little cadre of obstructionists, and his new attorney doesn’t care enough to advise him – but there’s got to be something. Maybe we can get a warrant to follow him…?”

“You’re sounding a little stalky there, Carrots,” he said, amused, watching as her ears wilted. “I mean, cool, if that’s what you’re into, but I’m pretty sure we can’t get a warrant to follow someone who has no ties to the case, so you might have to get his permission.”

She gave him a glare that was probably less intimidating than she’d meant it to be. “First, you’re gross, and I’m never telling you anything again. Second, I bet he _would_ give us permission. The way he taunted us back at the Henhouse...he wants us to see him get out of this. I fell right into his trap, but there was nothing I could do. Arrest the guy who threatened us despite having no evidence, or let him go knowing he’s a killer?”

Trying to sound optimistic and failing pretty hard, he said, “There’s still the note angle.”

“No,” she sighed, “that’s out too.”

That had probably been their biggest screw-up. In the half hour or so between their being served and witnesses getting settled, someone had done their job and cleaned up the table. The note still existed, but it had been written in pencil, and with all the liquid and mush splashed in the garbage bin, the note was completely illegible. If one of them had thought to bring the note along...but they hadn’t.

“At least he still doesn’t know I’m alive. You think Mr. Big would mind not telling him?”

“I think Mr. Big is very angry. Fru-Fru called me in tears, asking me to come and pick up her whole little family unit – Fru, James, and Little Judy – because a lady bunny was screaming and Little Judy was scared. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say Pawlish is out of the operation, or at least on a very short leash at this point. Ugh, see, this is our problem. Everything comes back to this. Even if we do investigate Pawlish, it leads us back to Paul. We can’t wipe them out without exposing ourselves, and we can’t expose ourselves without signing our own death warrants, and without our testimony they have no official lead on Paul Largo _or_ Mr. Big, just some sketchy warrants. Do you think it would be worth it, Nick?”

“Do I think _what_ would be worth it?”

“Sorry.” She looked at her paws twitching in her lap. “Do you think we’d survive if we turned ourselves in, told the MBI what we know, and...maybe...went into witness protection or something?”

He frowned into his own lap, contemplating the possibilities. It sounded grim. “Assuming we were valuable enough to actually _make it_ into witness protection and nobody found us, it wouldn’t be much of a life, but it would be _a_ life. Any life is better than death. It would be easier for us to disappear on our own. Pass on everything we know anonymously, and...get new identities. It’s really not that hard, if you know the right mammals. But we’re cops. We do the right...ish...thing. We-”

“Heads up, Fangmeyer approaching,” Judy said quickly, hushing him. Sure enough, Nick could smell them, and they poked their head around the door.

“Crime scene, cubs. This one’s a rutting doozy. We’ve got a car waiting,” they said, and Nick jumped down from the chair. Judy followed at a much more sedate pace, but she kept up fairly easily – if quietly – as he followed Fangmeyer out of the office and down to the lobby.

* * *

The first thing Nick noticed was the smell. Despite parking a block away, the nauseating scent of blood was everywhere, fogging up his brain in the worst of ways. It wasn’t the same scent he’d caught when Savage – or Pawlish, same difference – had clawed open the throat of Plumberg the ocelot in the tunnelway _(breathe, breathe)._ It was tainted, mixed with the scent of offal and feces.

He knew what to expect by now, but that didn’t make it any easier to stomach.

Judy stood stone-faced beside him, ears flat and paws clasped against her back. He could see her covertly fiddling with one of her ear-tips and despite knowing it was a nervous tic, he couldn’t help but think it was adorable. Watching her was, at least, better than watching the CSI team gather fluids and fur that had very recently been part of a live mammal. Those guys were the unsung heroes of the ZPD, the ones who did the nasty jobs detectives and lab techs didn’t want to do. Nick certainly wasn’t qualified enough to tell what kind of goo might be relevant to the investigation. It was something of a running joke around the Precinct that the CSI team would be terrifying criminals, if only they were more motivated.

He looked at the body again, shoving his paws in his pockets so nobody would see him clench them. It was medium-sized, probably just a little larger than Nick himself, but it was so mangled that he couldn’t tell species, sex, or even fur patterning. The muzzle was shattered, the limbs were scattered and crushed, and yet...the scene looked like something out of a movie. One of the slasher comedies Judy liked, maybe. Actually…

That was _exactly_ what it looked like. Everything had been arranged perfectly so that all the pieces could be seen, but the scene itself could be contained.

“This reminds me of something,” Judy murmured.

He nodded, pointing to the fractured skull. “Do you remember that scene from _Not From Around Here,_ when Kim and Lilah find Leonard in the forest?”

“Oh, sweet peanut butter cookies.” She brought her paw up to her face and held it there, shaking her head. “That’s my favorite movie; I should have seen it. It’s the same thing. Well, not the exact same thing, but like a remix. Techno Mozart.”

“Carrots, I’m only going to say this once, but it’s creepy that _Not From Around Here_ is your favorite movie. I get that you’re basically Wednesday Paddams, but seriously. That gave me nightmares.”

“One, I’m not Wednesday Paddams, I am a nice, normal cop who happens to like horror movies. Two, pretty sure it was the pizza, Nick. Your half had olives on it. Olives are the stuff of nightmares.”

He tried to contain his laughter, because they were at a crime scene and had to at least pretend to be adults, but he wanted to make her smile. Judy may not have believed she was depressed, but he’d seen it; his mother’s friend, Wendy, had gone into a deep depression without warning when he was thirteen, and it had killed her. Judy didn’t seem nearly as bad, but there were echoes there, and he wanted to be the best friend he could. “I will forever find it funny that you whimper like a kit when you see olives. What did they ever do to you?”

“The first time I tried them – well, the only time – they weren’t olives, they were beetles. My older brothers weren’t always very nice to us. I think I ate...five or six of them before one started _moving.”_ She shuddered. “I got so sick. Bunnies aren’t meant to eat live bugs. I mean, my parents will tell you that when I was young I killed a cricket with my teeth because it startled me, which should make my decision to be a cop unsurprising, but bunnies don’t eat that way.”

“You’re a big scary hunter,” he teased, nudging her. To his amusement, she bristled, ears popping straight back up. Maybe it was an embarrassing thing for her, but he couldn’t help himself. “And they call _me_ a predator. I prefer my food already dead and fried in grease, thanks.”

“I was _little,”_ she hissed. “I didn’t know any better, and it’s not as though I ate it. It’s like when someone creeps up behind you, your first instinct is to punch them.”

“Yeah, no; _your_ first instinct is to punch them. Mine is to run away. You keep following your instincts, and I’ll outlive you. I’d rather not have to tell your dad of your heroic final smackdown. He’s terrifying. All those _tears.”_

She covered her face with her ears. “Stop. You’re going to make me laugh, and my nose will twitch, and you’ll start poking it, and nobody will take either of us seriously.”

“Come on, Carrots, who here hasn’t been subjected to your weird humor already?”

 _“My_ weird humor? This coming from the guy who wants a spittoon? I don’t think so,” she retorted playfully, but her voice was still quiet. “You have a point, but there’s something unprofessional about joking at a horrible crime scene.”

At that moment, one of the CSIs whooped and shouted, “Found the other eyeball! Drinks are on _you,_ Ruffstein!”

“Yeah,” Nick said, giving Judy a pointed grin, “and nobody here would ever be unprofessional.”

It was a coping tactic. They saw enough murder that humor was necessary to get through it all. Perhaps joking about a real mammal’s death and dismemberment (probably not in that order, in this case) was inappropriate, but in Nick’s experience, taking everything seriously was a recipe for disaster. The only way to make sure they had the ability to do their best in the investigation was to make sure their negative feelings were cast aside. She may not have realized it consciously, but Judy did better work when she was laughing, as did everyone in zoicide.

Even the usually (outwardly) humorless Fangmeyer had a large, frightening grin on their face after hearing the exclamation.

“Okay,” said Ruffstein, a brown wolf, jogging up to Fangmeyer. “Scene’s clean. You’re free to go in and sniff around. We’ll send this to the lab and get back to you.”

“Hopps, Wilde, you’re up,” said Fangmeyer, waving a large paw toward them. Nick didn’t duck when it happened anymore, but his first few weeks in the academy had been an exercise in self-control. Coach Clawson had actually commended him for his caution, but had also warned him that caution could be deadly in certain situations, and determining which was which was an important skill.

Nick followed Judy in past the tape, shifting his shoulders to shrug off the itching sensation of eyes on them. He didn’t like turning his back to anyone, but after six years off the streets, he was good at ignoring it. As it turned out, good police instincts and good street instincts were not very different to each other. The biggest difference was that cops needed to trust their allies, but for a hustler, that was a sure way to lose everything. Nick trusted Judy to have his back, but there was some part of him that still _didn’t_ trust the rest of them, and he followed her so that he could see any threats to her. He always felt kind of stupid for doing it, but that didn’t stop him. Better to be safe than to be sorry.

Up close, the body looked even worse, less like a movie and more like a murder. Judy liked gory movies because they were so unrealistic; they were comedies to her because she’d seen true horror, and nothing on screen could ever measure up. Nick hated them because they were proof that under the surface, mammals were nasty and violent. Strip away the veneer of civility and everybody wanted to maul each other, even prey. The Nocturnal District cranked out garbage, put a pretty face on it, and mammals ate it up because they got to live vicariously through movies about killers and mayhem.

“The face looks like it was smashed in with a mallet,” Judy said, squatting down beside the mangled flesh. The smell was nauseating, but Nick got down next to her anyway. If he wanted to build a legacy for fox kits, he needed to do his job, no matter how unpleasant it was. “Circular, from the cracks on the skull.”

“A mallet would draw attention,” he pointed out. “I think it’s more likely the vic was hit with a frying pan.”

She rolled her eyes. “We’re not in a cartoon, Nick.”

“No, no, listen. Look where we are.” He gestured to the doors on either side of them. “An apartment building on one side, a restaurant on the other. Our perp could have hid the weapon anywhere around here without drawing attention. Hell, they could have taken it right inside the kitchen, washed it, and...that would be that. We should definitely look for it whatever did the face, but I’m more interested in what could have caused damage to the body like this. Whatever it was cut through _bone,_ but according to Rogers and his partner, nobody heard anything. It had to be quick and deadly, and definitely not something as loud as a chainsaw.”

Judy cocked her head, one ear falling to the side. It was what happened when she was deep in frustrating thoughts. “Fangmeyer said we were to focus on the Savage murders. It’s unlikely they’d give us a new case now without telling us. They obviously think this is connected in some way, but...unless...do you think they think Pawlish did this because it’s artsy? Is it even possible that he’s evolving?”

“It’s always a possibility,” he replied, thinking furiously. Historically, he’d tended to keep his musings to himself, but speaking them aloud to Judy seemed to speed up his process on the job. An outsider’s view always made him ask better questions. “I see two possibilities here. One, this isn’t at all connected to the Jack Savage case and someone made a bad judgment call. Two, Pawlish _is_ evolving, likely because he knows the gig is up, or maybe because he’s gone completely off-script after...recent events. There could be a third, now that I think about it: he’s bug-sniffing crazy.”

“He’s not crazy,” she told him sharply. “With the exception of severe psychotic breaks, murder is always a sane mammal’s game. Unstable, maybe. He could be acting, or evolving, under duress. And maybe your first point is right; maybe this isn’t connected at all. But Fangmeyer’s never steered us wrong before. If they think it’s connected, it probably is. We have to be prepared for someone who’s sane enough to get away with murder, but unstable enough to consider it in the first place.”

 _Unstable_ was a good word for it, but Nick preferred the word _stupid._ Murder was stupid, especially murdering over and over again. There was no value in it, no reason to do it other than to violate other mammals. Murder was power, but if an animal had to kill another animal to get power, they didn’t deserve it. Killers didn’t earn the power they stole, and that made them scummy, but the truth was, they couldn’t overestimate Pawlish’s intelligence just because he’d gotten away with it for this long. He was a weak and pathetic creature, killing for the sake of killing. He might dress it up nicely, call it a job (or maybe art, if Nick’s suspicions were true), but it was _stupid._ It would be silly not to approach the Savage murderer with caution, but there was no reason to be afraid of Pawlish.

Wow.

Something released from his chest and he felt like he could breathe for the first time in days. He didn’t _have_ to be afraid of Pawlish. That bunny didn’t have the power here. He had weapons and training, clearly, but then, so did Nick. So did Judy. There were legitimate things to be afraid of, but “Jack Savage” wasn’t one of them.

“You just figured something out,” Judy said.

He smiled at her. The world seemed just a little brighter. “Yes, I did. Nothing that will help us in the short-term, but I think I figured out why we’re such a great team.”

It was nice to see her smile, and he hoped she wasn’t just faking it for his sake.

* * *

Of all the unpleasant tasks associated with police work, Nick disliked combing over witness statements the most. When he got the chance to speak to witnesses muzzle-to-muzzle, it usually didn’t go very well; they were either too traumatized to give coherent responses, or they ignored him, or they ignored _Judy,_ and they both had to stand there and pretend everything was fine. Ignoring the little things was harder than ignoring the big things, because big things were such a rarity these days, but little things tended to pile up; they called it _affable prejudice_ in the sensitivity portion of the ZPA, but Nick just called it annoying, and it was almost easier to let the beat cops take statements.

On the other hand, without any context, they had to trust the words on paper and the gut feelings of the cops taking the statements. There was a reason that cases were never prosecuted if they hinged on witness testimony; mammals were highly unreliable. Realistically, he knew he probably was, too. As empathetic as he was, Nick could make incorrect judgments.

“One of the witnesses says she thinks it was a sheep,” he read aloud, because it was funny.

Judy’s ears perked up. She was sitting on the floor by his couch sorting through her own pile, and over his stack he couldn’t see any other part of her. “Did she say why?”

“Yeah, and it’s dumb. She’s convinced all sheep are evil.”

“Yeesh.” She hopped up to stand, probably so that she could look at him better. “I’ve heard that too, but I thought it was just the rantings of some old guy. Do you think it’s more widespread and we just don’t hear it?”

“I think mammals only have a certain amount of processing power they can dedicate to social judgment, and generalizing is easier than thinking of everyone as an individual. What Bellwether did...it was evil, Carrots. That doesn’t make all sheep evil, but the witness is a wolf. She’s part of the demographic Bellwether targeted. I’d be willing to bet she doesn’t know any sheep animally. The broader perspective isn’t something she’d want to waste processing power on, especially if it doesn’t affect her life.”

Judy bent down to gather her papers and he pointedly didn’t look down the front of her loose blue shirt. It wasn’t that he found chests particularly unattractive, or attractive either, but Judy had a thing about bare fur, and she wouldn’t like it. When she was done, she hopped onto the couch to sit next to him, peering at his paper. “So applying that generally, that means we all have some sort of bias. The way I’m looking at this is influenced by my bias, just as the way you’re looking at it is influenced by your bias. But just because we’re biased doesn’t mean Pawlish isn’t a bad mammal.”

“That’s not exactly where I was going, but yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

“It _seems_ wrong, though,” she said carefully, surprising him. She wasn’t one to question herself often.

“Why?”

“Because what if our bias is that we really want it to be him? What if it’s not Pawlish? It’s possible that he’s just a fall guy, and that the evolution of the crime scene is meant to throw us off the scent because now we’ll be looking in the wrong places. I don’t want to miss the forest for the trees, but I’m a zoicide detective. I follow the evidence presented to me. I don’t want to accuse the wrong mammal and ruin our credibility, but I can’t just not do something. My therapist says part of the problem is that I don’t think of myself as a bunny or a female or even a mammal, that I just think of myself as a cop, and if I’m not doing cop things or succeeding that’s necessarily going to affect me, but...we need to be detectives first, don’t we? If we ever want to catch Jack Savage, we have to…”

He put his arm across her shoulders, knowing by now that she wouldn’t collapse under the weight of it. She probably didn’t even notice the size difference anymore. “Detective work is a game of patience, like chess, but less boring. I get it, I do, but if you want to be busy with cop stuff all the time, you’re better off going back to the beat. Is that...something you want?”

He’d considered it before and rejected it. He wanted to be Judy’s partner, and he would follow her to the ends of the earth if necessary – well, no, he wouldn’t, but he’d make damn sure she never had a reason to go there – but he liked being a detective far more than he’d liked being a beat cop. It was less simple and there was far more waiting than he generally liked, but once he’d gotten his shield, a vixen had magically been accepted into the ZPA. She would start at Precinct Three in a few weeks. He wasn’t blind. He knew that there were still officers who didn’t trust foxes, even though they’d never say it in so many words. In fact, they would even say honestly that they trusted _him,_ because he wasn’t a “real fox,” he was a cop. Judy basked in her identity as a police officer, but Nick didn’t just want to be the “not all foxes” indicator, he wanted to be his own mammal. He wanted to trailblaze. He wanted to show his little corner of the world that species was incidental. He could do it without Judy, but he didn’t want to. Would he be as good at his job if he were partnered with someone else? Was it selfish to want her to stay with him if she wasn’t happy as a detective?

Would they even allow her to transfer out if she wanted to?

“Sometimes it is,” she replied quietly, but she wasn’t hiding, just talking. That was good, at least. “I like the better pay that comes with the shield; my student loans are almost all paid off now. I like being good at my job, and not every mammal has what it takes to hack it in zoicide, so this means more than being a good beat cop. I love working with you, and I would never, ever ask you to stop doing this. I like working under Fangmeyer, too, and sure, sometimes I miss the camaraderie of mornings in the bullpen and I get lonely having so few coworkers, but overall I like where we are. Where I am. I can’t ask myself big questions like that until I’m...more healthy, I guess. Any decision I make right now will be colored by the weird stuff going on in my head.”

“Weird stuff. That’s an interesting phrase.” He ran a claw-tip up and down the edge of her ear, because he couldn’t help it and because he knew it relaxed her. “When did this start, do you think?”

“When I brought in Mal Coates,” she said immediately, and he knew there was more to it. He gave her time to continue on her own, but the discussion was already long overdue. After a moment, she breathed out heavily and did continue. “He’s a scumbag, Nick, you know that. I know it. Everybody knows it...including Paul.”

 _“That’s_ what he wanted you to do?” Nick raised an eyebrow, confused. “He wanted you to bring in a criminal?”

She laughed harshly. “I’m fairly certain he wanted me to kill him, but the wording was vague. I made a choice to interpret it in a better way, but I still set him up. I stalked him for _weeks._ I knew his routines, his likes and dislikes, I knew his favorite food and how often he jerked off and how he looked when he slept. I knew what kinds of things he liked. I put myself in a position where I knew he would attack me, Nick. I made myself into his perfect victim, and I did it to set him up...he’s a coward and an opportunist, but the truth is, deep down most violent criminals _are_ the same. They all want the same things. Killers and rapists and even nonviolent sex offenders like to violate others. They like to wrest power from other mammals. All I had to do was become his type and put myself in his path, and wait for him to do exactly as he always did. He came quietly because I told him he was in big trouble, emphasis on _big,_ and getting arrested was probably the only way he would stay alive.”

“So you used unorthodox methods to catch a criminal. Why did that affect you so much? It’s not like it’s the first time,” he pointed out, unable to see where the problem was.

“I don’t know.” She shook her head before he could call her out on the lie. “No, that’s not right, I do know. There’s a difference between tricking a domestic terrorist into revealing her plans and stalking a guy just because a crime boss told me to. I misused police resources. The badge is something I treasure, and I spat on it. I’m a cop. But I feel like a criminal. I feel like a hypocrite. I just want to _do the right thing,_ but sometimes I don’t know what the right thing is, and sometimes the right thing is out of my grasp because I don’t want to hurt the mammals I care about, and on top of everything else...it’s stupid, but I feel a little betrayed, too. Fru is supposed to be my friend. Paul is supposed to be as much family as my grandparents were – you know, distant, but still _there._ That’s what we all pretended for so long that I really believed it. And then he threatened what I treasure to get me to comply and it was a big smack in the face. And I can’t...I don’t know if therapy can actually go anywhere because it’s not like I can tell Dr. Ricardo all of this. I don’t want to hold it in anymore, but even if I could tell him, I’m afraid if I let go, I’ll...I won’t…”

“You’ll feel it all. It’ll come spilling out and you won’t be able to control it anymore,” he surmised gently, pulling her in closer. He pretended he didn’t notice she’d started to cry. “It’s easier to feel nothing at all than to be angry and sad all the time.”

She forced a laugh through her tears, fooling precisely no one. “It’s dumb, right? I’m just a dumb bunny.”

“No, it’s not dumb. Don’t hide behind bunny jokes, it’s beneath you. If it is dumb, then I’m dumb too, because that’s how I survived for about fifteen years.”

“You felt stuff when I met you.”

“Only because you allowed me to,” he confessed, burying his nose in her headfur so she wouldn’t look up at him. “You were upset with me for living down to stereotypes. You didn’t roll your eyes and dismiss me as just another lowlife. You were genuinely upset that I _was._ That yanked the wrong block – or the right one, I guess – and the whole charade began tumbling down. Even when we first met, you believed in me, even though we were both jerks to each other. I conned you, you conned me, but you _expected_ me to be better. Profiling and fox repellant notwithstanding, I don’t think you realize just how liberating that was.”

“So that day, when you...when you got angry with me for all the things I said...it was because you thought all that was just another con? A trick to get you to work with me?”

“I assumed that everyone was just like me, Carrots. It didn’t occur to me that you might just _trust_ what the doctor said at Cliffside. Dr. Honey was an ID physician, so it makes sense – _now –_ that she was talking about a biological component. She was looking at it like a pathogen, trying to narrow down what made predators vulnerable to it. You thought she meant it in a historical context, and I thought she was full of scat, but even that wasn’t the real issue. I never trusted what anyone said, even when they thought nobody was listening, and I only ever revealed information if it suited me, except for that one lapse in that gondola. Even then, it suited me to see you confident again after Bogo tore you down. So yeah, my only option was to assume you had tricked me. Half my anger that day was because I’d been out-hustled by a rookie cop from the sticks, and the other half was actual hurt. I wasn’t angry...well, not at you. I took it out on you because you were the catalyst. A representation of the system that screwed me over in the first place.”

 _“I_ was the one who hurt you, though.”

“I don’t hold it against you, so you shouldn’t hold it against yourself. You really shouldn’t feel guilty for things that are long past,” he said, and it was almost hypocritical, but then, Judy had more than made up for her mistakes. There were things that Nick would never be able to fix, never be able to apologize for. There were things that could not be forgiven, and he just had to accept that.

He didn’t like it, but what else could he do? He couldn’t say them aloud, even to Judy. Half the time he could hardly stand to _think_ about them.

“I don’t know that I can ever make up for Mal Coates, though,” she said, and she wasn’t crying anymore, but he wasn’t sure that meant anything if she was already so deep into self-denial. “I’ve been trying to be the best detective I can be, and I’ve been trying to follow procedure to the letter, and I’ve been working with Kit-”

“Right,” he said dully, turning his eyes to the door. “Kit. The other fox.”

“Nick,” she said. Pleaded, really, if he was honest with himself. He wasn’t sure he could look at her, though, because as much as he understood _that_ she had different desires, he still didn’t know why she thought he’d be okay with...dalliances on the side. They weren’t together, but they would be eventually. They’d agreed to that. Judy let out an irritated noise and swung one powerful leg over so that she could straddle his lap, and although he could still technically look away, his gaze was drawn to her twitching nose and giant, beautiful eyes. “She’s not the other fox. I work with her. I _love_ you.”

“But you still...satisfy yourself with her. How does that make sense?”

Her laughter seemed, at the very least, misplaced. “I think we have a fundamental misunderstanding here about what I do. It’s not like what you and I have, Nick. You _are_ enough for me. I would love to share that part of myself with you, but I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want you to feel pressured or...you know Kit and I aren’t sexually intimate, right?”

No, he hadn’t known that. According to his research, that sort of thing was a sex thing. “What’s the point of your...thing, then?”

“I’m not in a relationship with Kit, Nick, and I wouldn’t want to be. It’s...maybe I should tell you how it started. She’s pair-bonded with Evangeline. But Angel isn’t comfortable hurting Kit, so they put out an ad – together – for someone who might be interested in providing that. I was just browsing the site, looking for odd jobs I could do quickly, maybe babysitting or yard work, and then I saw the ad. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to do it, or that it was something I would like, but cash was tight that month and what they were offering could cover the rent money I was missing. I did like it.”

He still didn’t understand, not really. “Why? What do either of you even get out of it?”

She shrugged and smiled genuinely, something that immediately put him at ease. He always liked it better when she was honest with him. “Kit wanted a disciplinarian. As for me, I’ve always gotten a sort of satisfaction from winning, or getting one up on someone, but it wasn’t until I met them that I realized it wasn’t really about winning, it was about dominance. Everyone expects me to be a small, nonthreatening little pet or something, but that’s not who I am. I’m not _cute._ I always craved more. I wanted to be on top. I wanted to...well, you know. It’s not even really about the beating for me, although that’s fun. The beating is a physical representation of being in control, even if really I’m just borrowing the power she gives me for a predetermined amount of time. With Kit, nobody’s getting hurt, because she sets the pace but she never pushes me to do things beyond the boundaries we set in our very first meeting.”

“So you use each other?”

“Well, that’s a crude way of putting it. I think of it – we both do – as a business agreement. We both get what we need from it, and there’s no pressure because we’re not romantically involved. If either of us backs out, it won’t be a loss of dynamic. We’re friends, and she hid me when I ran from you the other night, but she doesn’t _really_ need me, and I don’t really need her. We could find anyone, but we’re compatible in that regard.”

Nick swallowed and almost didn’t say what he was thinking, because it was dangerous and a step he wasn’t sure he wanted to offer at all. But he had to know, even if nothing would ever come of it. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

She looked shocked for a moment, as though she’d never expected him to ask that. She probably hadn’t. One of his defining traits was his absolute unwillingness to give his power away to anyone, even her. “I didn’t think you’d want it. And I’m...afraid of doing that with you, because I love what we have. I’m afraid adding a dynamic like that might do harm and the last thing I want to do is lose you.”

He leaned his head back to look away from her even as he settled his paws on her hips. His next statement was quiet, because he wasn’t sure if he could say it loudly without either sounding halfhearted or desperate. “I don’t think I’d mind some things. Not sure if I’d be able to handle being…you know…tied up, and I certainly wouldn’t be able to handle a muzzle, but I, uh.” Why was it so hard to say it aloud? Why was he embarrassed about any of it? She wouldn’t laugh at him. Deny him, maybe, and that was probably the best course of action, but not laugh. “When I looked up your intimations, I was excited, I guess. In the abstract. I’m kind of a control freak, and the idea of just giving up control for a while is terrifying, but also…kind of interesting? Maybe? I don’t know. I’d have to see what kinds of things you like in order to tell you whether or not I’d be okay with it.”

She was very, very quiet, and he gripped her tightly when she shifted, because he didn’t want her to run. Finally, she laughed a little, but that didn’t chase away the weight of the conversation. “Well, you’re in luck. I asked Kit if I could show you the video of one of our earlier sessions, and she said she didn’t mind because you’re mine. I think she got the wrong idea about us, but I didn’t push.”

Nick thought, privately, that it wasn’t an incorrect assessment, but that wasn’t something he wanted to bring up at the moment. “You film your sessions?”

“Yeah, we do. It’s protection, mostly. We film our consent and outline what we’re going to do and why. What we do isn’t illegal, but there are some mammals who think it ought to be, and I know Gesa Klaue is a staunch traditionalist. If anyone caught wind of our agreement and tried to get at us somehow, we have video proof that we’re both more than okay with it. Here, give me your phone.”

He hesitated for a bit, but decided she was being serious. He handed it to her and she inserted her SD card, pushing a few buttons on the screen and waiting for a few moments. Finally, she removed the card and gave him his phone. “There. You don’t have to watch it, but if you’re ever interested, there it is. She was feeling really down that day, so I was fairly harsh, but it’s not really extreme enough to make you uncomfortable. It’ll give you a good idea about what I’m into. Maybe you will be. Maybe you won’t. I want what you want, Nick.”

And he wanted what she wanted. That was probably a bad thing, but he’d never been in any situation like it before.

“But other than that,” he asked, seizing the opportunity, “what do you want? You say you love me, but what does that mean to you?”

“I already know the stories about bunnies, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No. I don’t care what bunnies want, I care what _you_ want.”

The look on her face was...unreadable, but he didn’t think she was upset. It was something not-quite-flattered. “I appreciate your attention to detail, but I _am_ a bunny, Nick. I know I complain about the way other mammals see us, and I’m more of a cop than a bunny, but that doesn’t make me any less of one, just like being a cop doesn’t make you any less of a fox just because it goes against perception. And _as_ a bunny, there are certain things that are more or less ingrained in me. We...tend to be...well, most mammals find our courtship rituals a little weird, but…”

“Yeesh, calm down, Carrots.” He rubbed her headfur affectionately. _This,_ he could handle. “I’m into you. Whatever weirdness that brings isn’t going to be the end of the world. You accepted me into your world, remember?”

She nodded and her shoulders lost their tension. “I know you foxes tend to be monogamous, but bunnies...dial that up to eleven. I remember when my grandpa died, my grandma got on top of him and just lay there for days. Every time we tried to get him out for the ash ceremony she’d start wailing and wouldn’t let him go. That’s not even the weirdest thing I’ve seen. It’s why we date so much. Most older bunnies end up settling for the most decent option rather than waiting for someone amazing, but the younger generation is learning it doesn’t have to be like that. My sister had three litters with three different bucks before she pair-bonded, and dated about ten others before that. We’re really picky. It’s why we’re seen as promiscuous. If you’re going to spend the rest of your life with someone, you have to make sure you’re compatible in every sense. There’s a saying back in Bunnyburrow: never buy the truck before you’ve taken it for a test drive. When I came to Zootopia and everybody had these sexless courtships, I didn’t get it. But from what I understand about you, that’s the kind of thing you prefer.”

“Wait, wait. You date by having sex-”

“We usually have sex with our dates, not the same thing-”

“-but you freaked out at a naturalist club?”

“Well, they were _naked,”_ she said, as though it should explain everything.

“I’m pretty sure that’s how sex works. You get naked and then...sex happens, I guess.” He felt like he was on fire and didn’t want to look at her, but he couldn’t look away, either. “Or whatever.”

“Oh my gosh, Nick.” She looked up at him with something he couldn’t call excitement, but wasn’t too far off. “Are you a virgin? That’s so _sweet!”_

He tried not to feel defensive. “It’s not like I could afford to bring anybody into my life, not the way I lived, even if I’d been concerned with more than the bottom line. And besides, I don’t get the hype. Whatever needs you have are easily taken care of, you know, by yourself, so what’s the point of bringing in someone else? With you, it would be nice, I’m guessing. But not with some random mammal I don’t care about.”

“But no pressure or anything,” she teased, but he could sense real worry there. He wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing.

“None,” he assured her. “Zero expectations here. I just hope I’m enough for you.”

He immediately wanted to kick himself. The joke – and it had hardly been one – fell flat as he realized it was the truth. He didn’t know how bunnies worked, or even how foxes worked, really. Judy seemed to have a lot of experience, and that meant he had a lot to live up to. What if he wasn’t enough? Worse, what if they were incompatible? What if he was too big for her? Would she be satisfied with his paws and his tongue? Could he even bring himself to do that anyway, lick her where urine came out? Well, that was a no-brainer, he could do just about anything no matter how unpleasant, and would do anything in his power to make her happy, but he had a feeling she would know if _he_ didn’t like it. He hoped he would like it, for her sake. He had never been able to take that step with anyone else – had never hid it, either – and that was ultimately what had ended every other prospective relationship before he’d stopped bothering.

Sex meant vulnerability, a chance to get a knife in your back or at the very least a paw in your wallet. Was that really something he could risk? If he couldn’t manage it, would she decide he wasn’t worth it?

“Hey,” she said gently, resting a paw on the side of his muzzle. Her smile was practically beatific. “Whatever’s going through that big brain of yours, forget it. I don’t know how it happened, but I found the mammal I want to be with even though we’ve never slept together. If we never have sex, I’ll still want you. What I feel for you is interminable. You will _always_ be enough.”

He blew out a breath and buried his nose in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent. She smelled like rabbit and the hay chips she’d eaten earlier and something he didn’t have a name for, but would call “home” if pressed. Judy did not sit idly, opting to take one of his paws and rub her chin all over it, and he wondered if she really understood the social connotations. Country bunnies did it as a way of marking their territory, and as Judy told it, living in a house with three hundred siblings made it a necessity. Littermates marked littermates so that they’d be able to find each other, parents did it to their children so that none of their children would be left behind at school or large functions, and every bunny marked the personal items they didn’t want to share with the rest of the household. Judy marked him because he was part of her family. City mammals, having smaller families and private households, tended to only mark their long-term intimate partners. It was a gentle way of telling other mammals to back off.

Cultural differences. He knew it would be hard. He wasn’t sure he cared. She was worth the effort.

“You think too much,” she told him, in between kisses to the pads at the ends of his manual phalanges. It put his back up in a way that was not unpleasant, but definitely new. Nick knew how to regulate his breathing, but he couldn’t hide his pounding heart. “If you’re going to frown like that, at least tell me what’s on your mind.”

“No idea,” he replied, and it was true. Whatever he’d been thinking about before, it was gone, lost to sensation. His paws weren’t any more sensitive than the rest of him, but somehow…

He closed his eyes and tried to hold in the noise he knew would out his enjoyment of her little kisses, but he didn’t quite manage it. The end result was a quiet combination of a moan and a whine, a sound he hated, but from her scent, Judy liked it. Even if he hadn’t been able to smell her, the roll of her hips was evidence enough. He couldn’t let it happen. Panting though he was, he wasn’t ready. No, that wasn’t right; he was willing to try to be ready, but _they_ weren’t. They weren’t even together yet, not really, and he didn’t want to make a mistake. He didn’t want to be hers out of desperation. He wanted her to want him when she could want other things, too.

“Stop,” he groaned, opening his eyes. Judy stopped undulating, but she seemed reluctant to relinquish his paw. He gazed at her, pleading, and she let it fall. “We can’t do this right now.”

“Do you not want me after all? I thought…”

He tried to laugh, but it came out as strained as he felt. “I think I made it clear that I do, but this is the wrong time. I don’t want either of us to get...you know, hurt. We decided to negotiate terms once we were both in a better place, remember?”

“And that was the dumbest agreement I’ve ever made.” She eased off of his lap, probably to put some distance between them. If she was experiencing the same things he was – a need to say _rut it_ and touch her again – it was probably for the best. “And that’s saying something, considering that I agreed to eat olives once, which turned out to be beetles.”

“Judy, I adore you. Every little piece of you. That’s why I want to do this right. I want it to be _real.”_

“I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh. “I got carried away. You’re right.”

She didn’t sound convinced at all. He wasn’t convinced, either, but logically, this was the best course of action. “We can revisit this when we revisit everything else.”

“I _am_ in therapy. What are _you_ trying to fix?”

He decided to be honest, even if it sounded stupid. “I’m learning how to not hold back. You told me that it wouldn’t be fair to me if you couldn’t give me your whole self; the same goes for me. If there’s a little part of me that doesn’t trust you because I’m weird and paranoid, that’s not fair to _you.”_

“Not to sound pushy or anything, but part of trust is action. Sometimes in order to learn something, you just have to do it. You’re right that we should...wait.” Her voice sounded harsh and reluctant, and it was kind of adorable. “But just keep that in mind. If not touching you is what I have to do to prove myself, I’ll do it. But if you ever want me to prove myself through action, let me know. I, uh...I’m going to go. Not that I don’t want to be here with you, but I really need a shower, if you know what I mean.”

Nick grinned, already feeling better about the whole thing. If she was okay to joke, that was a good sign. “I won’t hold it against you, but you might get some weird looks on the train.”

She snorted, gathering her things. “Who said anything about the train? I’m running home. Might help me calm down.”

“I’m sorry, Carrots.”

“Stop.” She smiled at him, strained though it was. “Never be sorry for caring. This world is fundamentally broken, and that’s why kindness is such a rare and valuable commodity.”

“Yeesh, you sound more cynical than I am.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m an optimist. I know mammals can be better. Kindness and love...they’re real. Or at least, I want to believe they are. I have to believe they are. I think you’re proof of it. And on that note, I really do need to go.”

“Have fun working it off,” he teased.

“Okay, I’m rethinking the kindness thing,” she grumbled, and let herself out.

* * *

She may have left his apartment, but she didn’t leave his mind, and he wasn’t surprised at all when she MuzzleTimed him later that evening. Considering where they stood, he didn’t bother to put on a shirt or get out of bed, and the way her eyes lingered on his fur caused something like elation to pulse through him.

They’d hardly said hello before Judy blurted, “I had a thought earlier when I was running home, and I wanted to run it by you.”

“Okay,” he replied. “Shoot.”

“Jack Savage is the name of an asset for the Big operation. We know Paul has some kind of leverage over whoever Jack Savage is. We think that Will Pawlish _is_ Jack Savage, and we know that once upon a time, Jack Savage was a Hunter who disappeared.”

That was Judy, always working even when she was sexually frustrated. “Yeah. And?”

“Well…” She bit her lower lip absently as she scanned whatever she had in front of her (probably case files) and he sort of wanted to nibble on it, which was a new thought for him. He usually just wanted her in the abstract. “What if our Hunter was Jack Savage, and then...died, or retired or something? And then this new guy, Pawlish, came in and just took over the identity? If the original was as skilled as we assume they were, it would make sense to fear them. If they became a legend…”

“A spook.” He nodded, warming to her theory. “That would explain some things, but as far as we can tell, the Savage case started about two years ago. Do we really think the Hunter lasted almost two decades as an asset?”

“Maybe Pawlish isn’t the only one to assume the identity. Maybe there were others. Maybe Pawlish is one of many who are posing as Jack Savage _now,_ but he’s the only one who’s gone rogue. That’s where my theory gets a little fuzzy. We can’t even really call it a theory. There’s no evidence, only what I would do if I were Paul.”

He blinked, impressed. “You’re looking at it from Mr. Big’s perspective?”

“Well, if we’re not allowed to touch Pawlish yet, this is our only option. What would _you_ do if your most skilled asset died or disappeared?”

“Replace it immediately,” Nick replied, “even if the replacement wasn’t as good – _oh,_ that’s genius, Carrots. Jack Savage doesn’t even have to be the best, mammals only have to _think_ Savage is the best. It’s the legend that keeps them in line. A ghost story for adults.”

She gestured off-camera. “Exactly. I want to verify this before we pursue it, though, because pursuing Will Pawlish is much different to pursuing Jack Savage, so I’m going to do something dangerous, and I want to ask you to _please_ not interfere.”

“What are you planning,” he asked warily.

“I’m going to plan an outing with Fru and Little Judy, and I’m going to casually mention that I’m getting fed up with the restraints of police work, and pretend that I wish I could _punish_ the mammals who deserve it. I’m going to sound like I’m a little paranoid, and that I’m having violent thoughts about the criminals I bring in. I’ll ask her what I should do. Confide in her that I’m worried I might hurt someone. If I’m wrong, she’ll try to placate me, but that’ll be the end of it. If I’m right, she’ll pass on the information to Paul, who will probably ask me to take Pawlish’s place once we take him down.”

“I hate it,” he said flatly. “It’s dangerous and I hate it, but you might be the only mammal in the world who can do it before a lot more animals die. I won’t interfere, but you bet your tail I’ll do whatever it takes to back you up if you’re harmed. You _do_ realize this is the first step in a direction we probably don’t want to go, right?”

“Taking down the Big operation isn’t our job,” she said delicately, mostly sidestepping the point. “You taught me how to set up situations. If my involvement in this comes out, I’m willing to accept the consequences. That’s why I need to do this alone; I need to do the right thing, and I need you to be safe.”

“I’m safer with you by my side,” he returned, and he hated the sound of the whine in his voice. It was unflattering and just plain silly. “You don’t think I want you safe, too?”

“I will be. I have a trump card that you don’t. It’s a terrible one that I’d rather not use, but it will keep me alive.”

“And what’s that,” he asked skeptically.

“Victor Fangworthy.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. Louder, he said, “You know, I swear I’ve heard that name before, but I can’t recall where.”

Her eyebrows rose dramatically. “Nick! He’s the head of Mammalia Justice. He oversees the MBI and the MIA, and every regional police department has an intermediary so he can keep tabs on things.”

“Rutting _hell,_ Carrots, you’re willing to sell out like that?” He held in a growl. “You’re willing to leave the ZPD?”

 _Leave me,_ he didn’t say.

“Of course not...unless I absolutely have to.”

“You said to Wolford that these guys have wanted you for years.” He swallowed. “What does that mean, exactly?”

She laughed, and unlike most other times, it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “When money ran out, I almost had to drop out of the academy. But the instructors liked me by then, so they introduced me to Castleberry. She was an active field agent at the time, but now she’s his outreach assistant. We made a deal: I’d get the training I needed, with the assumption that I would go to some department in the margins and eventually train to become an agent. I was okay with that, because an agent with the MBI is just a cop on a federal level, but then there was a bunch of politicking behind the scenes – you know I don’t really care about any of that, as long as I can do my job – and the higher-ups decided it would be good to have some small mammal visibility in Zootopia.”

“Because we’re the capital of Mammalia, not to mention the trendsetters.”

“Exactly. I was so happy to get to come to the city I’d been dreaming of since I was a kit, and everybody seemed satisfied with the arrangement, so I didn’t really think about it after that until Katie called me three years ago. She said Fangworthy thought it was high time they had a bunny of their own. But I made sure the very first thing I did after I graduated was to pay back everything they spent on my training, even though it kept me poor as dirt for a little while, so they couldn’t force me to accept their offer. I want this life. I want to be a detective with the ZPD, and I want to live in Zootopia, because it’s my _home_ in a way that Bunnyburrow never really was. I want to stay with you, Nick. I’m not going to sell out unless I absolutely have to, but I don’t think I will. You’re good. The best. You taught me how to keep myself safe. You taught me how to trick mammals into doing what I want. So this could be the biggest hustle we’ve ever done.”

“We?”

“We,” she confirmed. “I can’t do this without you. I need you to be innocent in this, because he’ll probably try to use you to threaten me if I’m discovered, and unlike my family, I know _you_ can protect yourself. I need you to pretend you don’t know anything, so that _if_ things go sideways, you can still be a cop. If you’re on the outside…”

“...I can protect you in a way that the other officers can’t.” He grimaced. “I still hate this, but you’ve thought this through. I can’t stop you, can I?”

“You could,” she told him plainly. “You could turn me in before I do it, or you could beg me not to. There’s not a whole lot I wouldn’t do for you if you asked. But I’m asking you not to do that.”

Damn her and her ability to strike where it hurt the most. She didn’t have to threaten or wheedle or prod; she just had to ask. He sighed, frustrated and defeated and overwhelmingly proud of her. “And I’ll do as you ask. You know I always will.”

Her face did something funny where she looked surprised and flattered and something else he couldn’t define. “I...thank you, Nick. I don’t intend for either of us to get hurt.”

“I know. And I’m going to hold you to that.”

“You bet – oh, dang it, that’s my parents on the other line. If I don’t start talking to them again, they’ll probably come into town at the worst possible time. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he assured her, and she broke the connection.

He lay back against his pillows, dropping his phone onto his stomach and stretching his legs. Judy’s plan was ingenious, but also very, very risky. There was a lot that could go wrong if she said the wrong thing, or if someone didn’t react the way she expected them to...but her assessments were more or less spot on. She had more leverage against Mr. Big than anyone, and while he’d proven that he was willing to get rid of _actual_ family if they proved to be a threat, Judy was funny in that she’d proven she wasn’t exactly the saint mammals thought she was.

It had been her idea to take Weaselton to Mr. Big in the first place, and Nick thought privately that Mr. Big had been too amused to deny her request. He’d seen an opportunity where, perhaps in the end, none existed after all. He could blackmail her and threaten her and she’d be okay, as long as she played her cards before he got a chance. And if Judy disappeared into the system...well, Nick would find her. There were legal avenues, and if those failed, there were much more shady avenues he could take. He hadn’t called in many favors after he’d joined the ZPD, but he still _could._ Technically, they were still _owed._ And while chasing her might not do anything for the legacy he was building…

Well, he’d already built it, hadn’t he? Precinct Three would soon have Officer Ruby Harfang in their midst, and he’d done enough community service with Judy to be known around Happytown and Zootopia Proper alike. He’d had his face on _billboards,_ for cripes’ sake.

He and Judy would have to trust each other, like always. It was a stupid, dangerous plan, but it was the best one they had, other than turning themselves in and waiting to be plugged. _That_ certainly wasn’t the legacy he wanted to leave behind, a cop who’d been dirty all along.

(Just another lowlife. _Like all foxes,_ they’d say.)

Nick considered reviewing the case files again, but ultimately decided against it. He knew them forward and backward by now, and part of police work was waiting. Waiting for rubber stamps. Waiting for lab results. Waiting for warrants. Waiting for the right time to _strike._ And he knew that he shouldn’t be excited. He should be terrified of the end result. But part of him had never wanted to leave the thrill of the hustle behind. This was something he hadn’t felt in a very long time, and the fact that he got to share it with Judy was incredible.

Judy was incredible.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep with all of this information running through his head, but there was nothing else to do...wait. There was that video Judy had given him. He could watch that. It would probably make him laugh, much like porn made him laugh, but at least he’d be able to soothe his curiosity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Nick’s a virgin. I dig it. Had to revise my headcanon slightly, as apparently Word of God says Nick’s had his heart broken a few times (which does fit his character), but that doesn’t really make a difference overall. Also, I’m totally incorporating Nick’s aversion to gross/slimy things from Crime Files, because I find it hilarious.
> 
> The next chapter is adultish. It contains things that only consenting adults ought to do, but it doesn’t have sex in it. It’s also optional, though I highly suggest you read it because you’ll get insight into both Judy and Nick.


	7. Not Quite Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick watches a video and thinks about stuff. Really, that's it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is entirely optional. It’s a continuation of chapter 6, which I just posted about five minutes ago, but it’s an adult scene that is...while not important to the plot about catching a killer, definitely important to the way Nick and Judy think and act. Yes, it includes BDSM. No, it is not sexual. You don’t have to read it if you’re uncomfortable with consensual spankings, but I suggest you do so.
> 
> I tried to balance descriptiveness with taste, but sorry if it’s too wordy. The point isn’t the physical display, but Judy’s dedication to compassion and Nick’s reaction to the ideas presented. To be clear, I doubt there will be any of that dynamic between Nick and Judy in this story. When you’re with someone, you don’t have to share every interest. The reason I included it is that Nick needs to know what Judy’s into and what he wants from her, and he can’t make decisions without being fully informed.

Nick pushed play, ready to laugh, but he was a bit confused when the video started. Judy, dressed in loose, comfortable pants and a very tight tank top, sat on the edge of a full bed, turned so that she could face the camera. The vixen he’d met was kneeling on the floor by the bed, also facing the camera, dressed in a similar tank top and a pair of small purple panties. They both looked...not very sexy, really. Judy looked relaxed, and the vixen looked nervous. He’d been expecting something you might find in a porno, all corsets and cork leather, but then, this was Judy. The only time she’d ever wear a corset would be on an undercover assignment, and even then, she’d probably complain about it.

“My name is Kit Graham,” said the vixen, “and I consent fully and freely, of my own volition, to the acts that will take place on this video. I chose all of the tools we might use tonight.”

“My name is Judy Hopps,” said Judy, “and I consent fully and freely, of my own volition, to the acts that will take place on this video. I will only use the tools that Kit set out on the table behind the camera.”

The two faced each other, Kit on her knees in front of Judy, Judy’s paw on Kit’s head. Surprisingly, it was Kit who took the lead. “I need your help, Miss Judy.”

“Tell me what you want.” Was that sensuality in her voice, or was Nick just confusing sensuality with firmness? “Tell me what you need from me.”

Kit covered her face with her paws, but Judy took them and shook her head. “No hiding. I’m here to help you. Tell me what will help.”

“I need a…you know.”

“No, I don’t,” Judy told the vixen, which didn’t make any sense, because what else could she be there for except what she had gone there to do? Unless it wasn’t about knowing, but making Kit talk. He’d done that before, played dumb in order to gain information or simply make mammals uncomfortable.

Kit’s voice was a whisper when she said, “A beating. A real one. I need…um, I need to…be punished.”

“Why?” Judy sounded genuinely curious, another thing that surprised Nick. “What have you done?”

“I can’t say it. I want to, but I can’t. It just won’t come out, even though I’ve been trying all day. That’s part of why I need this. I don’t want it stuck inside me anymore.”

“Do you promise that you’ll tell Evangeline after you tell me?”

Kit nodded vigorously. “I promise. I want her to know.”

“Okay. What kind of beating do you want? Only you know what you need, so you need to tell me.”

Even on camera, Nick could tell that Kit wanted to hide her face again, but Judy had a firm grip on her paws, so she had to make do with looking away. “I, um…I just want to go until I can finally get it out. You know. I know you don’t like doing it, but I really need you to not pay attention to my body. Just listen for the safeword, please, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to talk otherwise. It’s like every time I go to say something there’s this invisible paw, choking me, forcing the words back down, and I _hate it_ and I want it gone, and this is the only way I can do that.”

Judy wore a peculiar expression, but she squeezed Kit’s paws gently. “You’re right, I don’t like doing that. There’s a lot of space for things to go wrong, or for you to get hurt. But I’m willing to do it, if it’s what you need.”

The dialogue didn’t make a lot of sense to him, but then, he hadn’t had much exposure to that kind of thing. He knew _of_ it – back when he’d known everyone by necessity, he’d known some mammals who had lived that kind of lifestyle day and night – but he didn’t know _about_ it, and in situations where that was the case, a mammal could only go on stereotypes. He’d expected a lot more forcefulness from Judy, but it looked like Kit was the one running the show.

Kit sounded genuine when she said, “Thank you, Miss Judy.”

Judy didn’t say anything, instead opting to physically lead Kit to the edge of the bed and push her gently down. Kit obeyed the unspoken command and arranged herself chest-first on the mattress, feet flat on the ground and arms tucked in by her face, allowing for better breathing, while Judy moved over to the desk. She looked over the camera for a moment before nodding, reaching past it, and bringing out two items. The first one looked like a furbrush without any bristles and the second...well, he’d seen those before, but had never bothered to look closely. He knew that they were made of fiberglass wrapped in cork leather, because he’d once gotten curious about a pallet from a shipping truck he’d “liberated” and accidentally broken one in half, but that was the extent of his knowledge.

The camera angle allowed him to see both of them from the side, but they didn’t pay it much mind. Neither of them seemed to care about how it looked. It was clear that this was not really meant to be watched, and he felt grateful that they were allowing him to see it at all. Then, Judy...shifted. It was like the shifts she did sometimes while they were chasing suspects, but instead of looking excited, she looked extra severe. Like she had turned off something inside, and all that was left was a moving stone. She moved in little half-circles for several moments, considering the vixen’s exposed thighs, before nodding and pulling back her paw.

The sound of the blow was quiet, all things considered, and lighter than he’d expected it to be. Kit was just as quiet, looking nervous, but interestingly not as nervous as she had been during their little talk beforehand. Judy landed another blow in the same general area, the space at the very tops of her thighs just below the cut of her underwear, and although this one was soft too, it was harder than the one before. Kit still only breathed.

He didn’t really get it. Kit had asked – begged, really, if he considered the pride most foxes were raised to have – to be beaten, and while most mammals would shy away from any pain at all, he couldn’t see why she would be content with the almost-gentle way Judy was hitting her with the bristle-less brush. It was true that Judy seemed to be establishing a pattern, so maybe it was like running: there were sprints and there were marathons, and the method of movement depended on the end goal. The idea made him uncomfortable in a not-entirely-unpleasant way.

Something else shifted in Judy, not quite in her face, but not _not_ in her face, either. She seemed almost imperious as she picked up the pace a little and the strength in her swings increased noticeably. Kit still didn’t make a sound, but she did tense up, biting her lower lip. From her angle, Judy wouldn’t be able to see the slip, but Nick could, and it…

_What would it feel like?_

And where had that come from?

The sound was much louder now, stark against the quiet. Judy looked entirely focused in a way that he’d never seen her; even on the job, her ears were everywhere and she kept her eyes on exits, but on the video, he would be willing to bet she couldn’t hear anything but the sound of her blows and Kit’s more obvious breathing, long sucking breaths between her teeth. He wanted to be the focus of that kind of attention. The lone thing in the universe that mattered. Not all the time, which would be inconvenient, but at least once, so he could see what it felt like to know without a doubt that he was valued.

Judy said he was her treasure, and he believed her. That didn’t stop the creeping self-doubt from making him question her anyway.

When Kit started making little pained noises, Judy paused, shook her head, got ready to continue, and paused again. She flexed her paw around the handle, biting her lower lip, and he could see her shaking a little. Was she excited or upset? He couldn’t tell. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, though, when Kit said, _“Please_ don’t stop.”

Right. She’d said she didn’t like doing what they were doing.

Seeming to come to a decision, Judy dropped the bristle-less brush and switched to the fiberglass rod, bending it slightly and smelling the cork leather. For a short moment, she relaxed, and then her other face was back on. Was it a conscious shift, or did she naturally fall into it? Did she look at him like that when he wasn’t looking? That thought made him heat from the inside, and he was glad he’d chosen to wait until she was gone to watch.

The sound from the rod was different, sharper. She used the loop of cork leather at the end to hit Kit, who squirmed but did not object. The next few hits were just as sharp, and Kit made those noises again, but Judy was frowning, and she switched tactics. The swish of cork against air was obvious even in the video, and when she landed a blow with the fiberglass part of the rod, Kit let out a yip and one of her feet popped up off the floor. Judy’s expression turned to one of satisfaction and she landed another blow just like it.

 _God,_ that look was incredible. It wasn’t quite joy, but something deeper, maybe even dark, if he had to label it. The more clean hits she landed, the more noise Kit made, and the happier Judy looked. Could he ever satisfy her like that? Would she ever make that expression because of him? It was an idea almost too hard to handle, too frightening and powerful to think about. And, most oddly of all, once Kit began to openly cry, the whole scene sent a thrill through him. He dug his foot-claws into the mattress to ground himself.

Only a few strikes after Kit’s first real shriek, she burst out, “I’m sorry! Red, red, I’m sorry, I’m…”

Judy immediately released the rod and dropped to her knees, paws at her sides. Kit dropped to the floor too, curling up with her head on Judy’s thighs, and Judy ran gentle paws through the fur on Kit’s neck and between her ears. The vixen cried and shook, and Judy leaned close, murmuring, “It’s okay, honey, it’s okay. You’re okay. I care about you. You’re safe.”

“I went to see him again,” said Kit through her tears. “I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it. I never can. I keep thinking _what if,_ what if I’d just been _faster,_ what if I’d been _stronger,_ and now he’s just dead! There’s nothing I can do to make up for it! There’s just...I made a rutting stupid mistake because I’m an _idiot_ and he...he…”

“This again? Oh, Kit.” Judy tugged just a little so that she could get her arms around the much bigger fox. “It wasn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself for this. He wouldn’t.”

“You can’t know that. He’d never forgive me.”

“Well, _I_ forgive you. You’re a good mammal. You’re kind and funny and you deserve to be forgiven, okay? So I forgive you. I’ll always forgive you.” She stroked Kit’s fur until the vixen was calm again and then one of her ears twitched toward the door. “Can you hear that? Evangeline’s just outside the door.”

Kit laughed shakily. “She brought tea. I can smell it.”

“You want her to come in?”

“Yeah. I...thanks, Miss Judy. I think I’m okay.”

“You’ll be even more okay once you talk to your actual wife about this,” Judy replied, amusement in her voice. Louder, she said, “Come on in, Angel!”

The door opened to show another vixen, obviously well-kept despite living in the worst part of Happytown. She was carrying a tray with three mugs on it, grinning brightly as though Judy and Kit weren’t in a highly intimate position. Maybe she really was okay with it. “Are you still filming?”

“Oh, damn, I forgot. Yeah, the camera’s still rolling. Would you mind getting that?”

“Sure thing, Judy.” Evangeline neared the phone and reached for it. “Thanks for com-”

The feed cut off.

He breathed out heavily, shaking, trying to process what he’d just seen. The look on Judy’s face, concentration and whatever that other thing was, had captivated him in a way he hadn’t expected. The way she’d attended to Kit afterward had amazed him; despite her crying, he could actually _see_ the release the beating had given her. That tenderness, those words – _I forgive you, I will always forgive you –_ were things he wanted for himself. How often had he been trapped in his own head, wishing he could be forgiven for things he’d never mentioned to anyone else? How often had he wished that someone could help him carry the weight of his past? He had always been afraid of giving his power to someone else, knowing that mammals would only take advantage of it. He didn’t trust easily, and even when he did, it was with the sort of pessimistic resignation that came with knowing he was going to get hurt eventually, but being unable to care about the inevitable. But Judy was different. She’d always been different. He trusted her with every inch of himself, all forty-eight of them, because she had proven that she would treasure him regardless of mistakes and missteps.

Judy had forgiven Kit for things that were obviously (even to Nick) not her fault. He could hardly imagine how wonderful it felt to her. What would it be like to be forgiven for things he _had_ done? Things that _were_ his fault? He could see what Judy had meant: it wasn't about the beating. That was the vehicle for dominance. Judy needed, more than anything, to be in charge, like mammals so rarely allowed her to be. And he could see what would be so compelling for Kit, too: the chance to give herself over. The chance to leave it to someone else, for a change. To stop punishing herself, because someone else was willing to do it for her. Nick wanted the same thing for himself. Maybe not in _that_ way, but it kept echoing, _I forgive you, I will always forgive you._

And because of that, he was _impossibly_ aroused, wriggling in his sheets just because of a video.

It was funny, because he belonged to her. It wasn’t a conscious choice, but something in him just accepted it as fact: he belonged to her, and that was that. It was bigger than being grateful, even though he was. It was bigger than loving her, even though he did. It was the kind of thing that made him certain he’d die for her, or kill for her, or follow her anywhere, if only she wanted it. The best thing about Judy was that she _had_ to know he’d topple cities for her, but she would never ask it of him. All she ever asked him to do was try his hardest to be the good mammal she knew he could be. It was humbling and erotic at the same time, thinking of Judy smiling sweetly, of Judy standing firmly with that rod in her paw, of Judy looking at him, _forgiving him –_ he kicked off his bottoms and pressed play again.

He couldn’t tell Judy he wanted to try it, but he wasn’t convinced he didn’t, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER FACTS for everyone who isn’t involved with kink: there are three kinds of healthy spankings: erotic, stress-relieving, and punitive, and the difference is the end goal. In kink dynamics, direct and frequent communication are must-haves. Also, in opposition to what popular media tells you, THE SUB ALWAYS HAS THE ULTIMATE POWER. Don’t listen to that fucking moron, E.L. James, or her ilk, because they’re full of shit. There are dynamics in which the sub voluntarily gives up control over their own body and life, but there’s that word: voluntarily. If they ever want to stop, that’s it. And it can’t just be verbal, either; you have to listen to your sub’s nonverbal cues. That’s why Judy is wary of a beating where she doesn’t pay attention to Kit’s body and goes until Kit safewords out. It’s dangerous for Kit, who may not be paying attention to (or may be ignoring) her own limits, and Judy would never forgive herself if she damaged Kit for real. They may not be romantically involved, but there’s a lot of trust required on both ends, and if the level of concern is not high, they have no business engaging in punitive therapy. Sorry for soapboxing, but this fascination with Fifty Shades of Grade-A Bullshit is a pet peeve of mine. If we don’t treasure our subs, we don’t deserve them, full stop.


	8. Informative Sessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Judy split up to do some sleuthing. Then they meet up to do...well, other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is this so late? Because every time I wrote something, it was sub-par, and also because I've been accidentally triggering...old habits...with my portrayal of Nick. Updates will be verrrry sparse for a while because of that, but I wanted to do something nice for myself anyway. So despite advances in the plot, this chapter will be mostly fluffy, it will get a little sexy, and it will contain a big chunk of conflict resolution. I’ve never written a sexy scene before, but I enjoyed it, so I hope you do too.
> 
> Reminder: the movie made it pretty clear that “cute” is a racial slur. There will never be some kind of "free pass" or "it's okay, he doesn't mean it rudely" in my stories. No matter how many times you see an “in-group” use a slur toward each other, if you’re not part of that in-group, you don't get to use it. Judy may be remarkably patient with people who use it on her, but that's a testament to her character, not the severity of the word.

It was eight when Nick got the two-word text: _I’m in._

The stupid, ridiculous, dangerous plan was in action. Judy had somehow convinced Fru-Fru that she wanted to _murder animals,_ and her text could only mean that she was on her way to Mr. Big’s mansion. If she had been less than convincing, she’d have texted _I’m out,_ and if she’d needed help she would have texted a smiley face, but she was in. _She was in._

And now, Nick had some time to do a little off-the-record sleuthing of his own. Judy couldn’t have _all_ the fun.

There was a reason that Gregory-the-ocelot had been in Tundratown that day, and there was a reason that Pawlish had torn into his throat like it was nothing. There was a reason Gregory had used a gun instead of a blade to try to kill “Bugbear,” and Nick wanted to know what it was. What possible information could Bugbear have been hiding? Fortunately, for the investigation at least, Bugbear was still in the hospital – due to infection – under minimal guard. The station simply couldn’t spare the officers, and considering the whole scope of things, he was low-priority. Not that anyone would tell him that. That was what Nick was counting on. If he knew anything about mammals like Bugbear, it was that they were self-involved little scatheaps who thought they were more valuable than they actually were.

It was the combativeness. There was no logical reason to hide anything about Jack Savage, so Bugbear had only been obnoxious to make himself feel important.

The grizzly was sitting up in bed, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at nothing. There were, tellingly, no tokens of affection or flowers or even get-well-soon notes. For someone who’d been so protective of an old coworker, he didn’t seem to have many friends. Or any. Perhaps, thought Nick, Jack Savage had been his only friend, and that was a little sad. He _knew_ what that was like, but it probably wasn’t for the same reasons. Nick had always been likable, the kind of smooth-talker that could only be produced by a brilliant grifter like Ruth Wilde, whose charming smile and soft words could relieve you of your wallet and the shirt off your back before you knew what was happening. Unfortunately, the paranoia that came with working the streets had eventually grown and ruined any chances of companionship until Judy had shaken up his world. Bugbear was just a grade-A jerk.

“Hi,” Nick said cheerfully, lifting the corners of his lips in an insincere smile. He knew from years of practice that it was convincing enough. “Remember me?”

Bugbear remained silent.

“It’s okay if you’re too afraid to talk to me. I know I’m awesome,” Nick continued, as though Bugbear wasn’t glaring holes in his head. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you. Not about Jack Savage, though. Turns out, she’s less interesting than you are.”

After working with Fangmeyer and listening to Matilda Leapyear, calling Jack Savage ‘she’ felt a little gross, but it was important that Bugbear think he was clueless. Nick grinned a little harder, hoping the grizzly would hurry up and ask questions already before his cheeks started to twinge. Finally, Bugbear sneered. “You don’t know scat, Fox.”

“That may be true. Or it may not be. Now, I’m not happy to have to save your life, because you’re not very high up on anybody’s priority list but one, if you catch my drift.” Nick watched as the bear tried to stay impassive. He very carefully kept up his faux-cheer as he continued, “Still, this investigation would be a lot smoother if we didn’t have to worry about our witnesses getting plugged. So tell me, buddy, why does Mr. Big want you dead?”

“Mr. Big, the guy who owns my boss? Trust me, Cub, if he wanted me dead I’d be dead. Or don’t they teach you anything about the real world in that fancy police academy of yours?”

Nick didn’t change his expression as he processed the response. Generally, Bugbear’s assessment was spot on; if Big wanted you dead, you died. He didn’t send untrained ocelots to hopefully take you out. So why _had_ he been targeted, and by whom?

“You know us intellectual types, so out of touch,” Nick commented, just to keep Bugbear talking. “If it’s not him, though, then who? Who wanted you shot?”

“Probably nobody. I bet you anything the real target was you.” The grizzly snorted. “Take out the guy asking questions and maybe less questions get asked. I doubt that partner of yours would last a day without you.”

“I don’t intend for her to have to find that out,” Nick replied instead of being antagonistic. Most mammals underestimated them both, but he only ever took it seriously when they badmouthed Judy. Probably because it hurt her when they did it. They both had pride issues, though his tended to be less obvious.

“Listen, I'm not stupid. I know you’re only here because you're out of leads, but you’re asking the wrong questions of someone who has no clue. What you _should_ be asking is who would want _you_ dead? Or have you pissed off too many animals to count?”

“You were the target,” he said, although he was beginning to doubt it. “Please call if you think of anyone who might want to hurt you.”

“Yes, because a fox is exactly what I want covering my back if someone’s really out to get me. Hell, give me the bunny – she may be useless, but at least she wouldn’t stab me in the back and go through my wallet.”

He rolled his eyes, tamping down on his frustration. Would nobody ever see anything other than a _useless bunny_ or a _shifty fox?_ “It’s always nice to get a compliment or two. I'm serious: call if you think of anything. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some _other_ bears to stab and rob.”

It was funny. Nick knew that he wasn’t particularly threatening, having taken a distinctly nonviolent approach to everything in life until the academy, and his species was an easy target for every scatmouth who thought themselves superior. It didn’t hurt, hadn’t hurt in a long time, but it bothered him. It bothered him long after he’d left the hospital room, and it kept bothering him. Not because of the prejudice itself – that was inescapable, even in such a progressive city as Zootopia – but because his conversation with Bugbear had given him a sudden dose of clarity.

 _Dumb-Dumbs,_ he’d called the wolves at Cliffside. He had stereotyped Judy, called her names, torn her down on purpose. Even in his head, he still sometimes called her cute, despite knowing that for some reason it was insulting. He had long held himself to a higher standard, at least in theory, but did his own marginalization really excuse his casual condescension? In that case, had he ever had a right to be angry with Judy when she’d done the same thing? It wasn’t something they had talked about much, and he wondered if perhaps that was less _Nick didn’t do anything wrong_ and more _Judy forgives too easily._ Maybe he did owe her an apology after all. If he got angry at other mammals for overlooking her and stereotyping her, he had to be honest with himself.

But first, he needed to talk to someone else.

All the pieces were in place; they just needed to be connected to form the right picture, but unfortunately, he couldn’t quite make anything _fit._ He and Judy had suggested and thrown out plenty of ideas, but none of them were perfect, and although Judy risking her neck and freedom for information was brave and everything, there was no guarantee that she would bring back anything they could _use._ So, since Nick couldn’t put the puzzle pieces together yet, he walked a little slower, taking in the scenery to give his mind a break. No use worrying until there was something definite. And the scenery?

There was something soothing about the bustle and blend of Zootopia. Prejudices aside, the diversity was unprecedented, and successfully fitting so many mammals into one city was a remarkable feat.

Nick had been fifteen when he’d realized he was in love with his city. Outsiders tended to look at it as an entity, almost a mammal in its own right, pulsing and teeming with life. As a native, Nick could see that idealism for what it was, but every so often he would look up at the Guardian Statue or watch the sun set over the skyline from a roof somewhere and he’d be overwhelmed by a sense of _home._ There was no logic in being proud of his status as a lifelong Zootopian, but there was something to be said for surviving the darker side of the city he so adored.

There was no other city in the country like it. At twelve, Nick had looked around and seen opportunity. Money could feed you for a day, but connections could make sure you never went hungry at all, and Nick was good at making connections with the many mammals of all kinds who lived in Zootopia. Why would he want to protect and serve another city? What would it take to build up that kind of credibility somewhere else? His mother, Ruth, had run away at fourteen and grifted her way down the entire east coast of Mammalia before she’d accepted her betrothal to John Wilde and settled down to become a tailor’s wife. Nick liked to think that he inherited _something_ from his father, and that something was the ability to stay in one place.

Or maybe it was the ability to love that he inherited. Either way, he couldn’t imagine leaving, especially now that he was an officer of the law. He was _building_ something, a legacy, his stellar reputation with the force creating opportunities that he’d never gotten as a kit. That was what he held onto on the bad days, when cases went cold or some old-fashioned prey refused to address him or co-workers thought they were complimenting him when they said he wasn’t _really_ a fox. This was his city. These were his animals. It was an honor to serve and protect them, even the ones who deserved a kick in the teeth.

Speaking of teeth, Judy was another perk of living in Zootopia, but she was still in some ways undeniably a farm girl. There was a part of him that was terrified she would want to retire to the country, and he’d one day have to choose between her and the city he loved so much. There was so much of her he didn’t understand, and for that matter, so much he didn’t understand about bunnies. So it was with deliberate caution that he knocked on Matilda Leapyear’s door all alone.

Technically, there was no official reason to see her. They could more or less rule out the original Jack Savage as the culprit, but something was itching at Nick, especially now that he had gone to see Bugbear. Nick and Judy both had been so focused on the shot itself that they hadn’t even questioned whether or not Bugbear had been the target, but as unlikable as the grizzly was, Nick had to face the facts: shooting the cops was a much more plausible reason, even if it wasn’t a logical action.

If he could figure out how “Jack Savage” had been passed on like a title, then maybe…

Something. He wasn’t sure what it was, but something was there.

“Oh, Detective Wilde,” said Leapyear as she opened the door. “Um. Please, come in. Detective Hopps isn’t with you?”

He shrugged, following her inside her apartment. “She’s chasing down a lead right now. I’m following up with mammals we’ve already questioned.”

“Well, make yourself at home. Do you want some tea?”

“No, thanks.” He wasn’t going to tell her that most teas were too nasty to consider, but he _would_ take her up on her offer to get comfortable. He sat on the couch, as he had before, and waited for her to settle down in the chair she’d taken last time. She looked impassive, so he took the plunge. “I need you to tell me what you know about Jack’s death.”

“I don’t actually know anything,” she told him, sticking a piece of hard candy between her teeth. The _crunch_ made Nick wince. She tapped her nails on the arms of the chair, one tap for each finger over and over again. “At the end, we...were having problems. I loved Jack, don’t get me wrong, but they could be so _trying._ Part of them never came back from the Crimson Isles, and for a while, I was okay with that. I was okay with the spacing out, the bug-out bags, the way Jack couldn’t sleep in an open area. But then, they got a new job and...started to blossom. I know Jack was trying to protect me by not telling me the details, but I’m no idiot; Jack was a killer. I never saw it happen, I swear to you, but I knew enough about Mr. Big and heard enough rumors to extrapolate. Living in Tundratown, hearing about the new operation was unavoidable, and what else could a rising mobster use an ex-Hunter for? So I’d get used to this new Jack who smiled and joked around and brought me sweet little gifts for no reason, but then they wouldn’t have an assignment for a while, and our life together would revert to how it was before. Only this time I knew that killing made them happy. The act of _killing_ did what I could never do. It was _scary,_ Detective. We started fighting. I lost count of how many times Jack stormed off. The last thing I ever said to Jack was horrific, and I’m sorry I ever said it.”

“Are you comfortable telling me what you said?”

“You can kill yourself for all I care. That’s all you’re good for, Jackie.” She looked into her lap, still tapping, looking guilty. “I didn’t mean it. I was just angry. And it probably wasn’t my fault, but I can’t help but feel like if I hadn’t said it, maybe Jack would have come home to me. Sixteen syllables ruined everything. It’s a sore I’ve never been able to heal.”

“Do you think it was a suicide,” he asked carefully.

“Maybe. Or maybe Jack got reckless and picked a fight, or maybe Mr. Big had them iced for whatever reason. Maybe a million things. For all I know, Jack’s life was already in danger. We didn’t communicate very well. Jack was practically mute half the time, and I...well, I have my own issues.”

Taking an educated guess based on her apartment and her behavior, he asked, “Does OCD affect communication?”

“It’s hard to vocalize it, so I suppose so. Especially when it threatens your routine,” she replied, glancing up at him. He couldn’t read her expression. “Our relationship was unhealthy. I know that. If I lost Jack, something terrible would happen. The world would explode or the seas would boil or...it’s not rational, obviously. I was fixated on Jack and I’m sure it put pressure on them that they didn’t deserve. I can’t get these images out of my head...how Jack might have died. If it wasn’t a suicide, maybe they were bludgeoned to death by a moose, or their eyes were gouged out by a lion, or...it keeps me up at night. The nights I spend in coffee shops probably outweigh the nights I spend at home.”

Nick frowned. She wasn’t lying, but there was something off about her statement. He’d run the whole thing by Judy later, see what she thought. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was important. To cover for his frown, he said gently, “I’m sorry for your loss. I understand it was years ago, but…”

“You never really get over losing someone you love,” she finished. “I take it you know the feeling.”

“Just my dad, is all. And I was a kit, so it’s different, but I do know the feeling of _what if,_ and wishing your last words had been kinder. I’m sorry you have to go through it.”

“It is what it is.” She shrugged and pasted a smile across her muzzle. If Nick didn’t know better, he’d believe it. “Do you have any other questions for me?”

“Yeah, but I don’t even know if you can answer it. Do you have any idea why anyone would take on Jack’s name to go out and kill mammals?”

“Maybe as a tribute,” she offered, seemingly amused. Huh. “Or maybe it’s a title. Jack was very good at their job, I know that much. You don’t get accolades for being bad at your job, right? Mr. Big rose to power partially because of Jack’s...talent. I imagine Jack Savage is as much a legend as the ice pit. And, since Jack is only _missing,_ not dead, anyone could take that name. It’s disrespectful, but there you have it. Are you _sure_ you don’t want some tea, Detective? I’ve got red and white.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” he told her. “I should go, though.”

He didn’t tell her she should lay off the caffeine if she wanted to sleep. He knew from animal experience that unsolicited advice, however well-meaning, was _not_ appreciated.

_...Oh._

* * *

They’d been slated to meet at Judy’s place, but Nick texted to ask for a change in plans. The apartment in Happytown was a box with thin walls and nosy neighbors, and Nick wanted some privacy. He absently added cabbage and sauce to the vegetables and noodles and layer of batter, listening for the sound of Judy’s key in the lock and wondering what the hell he was going to say to her. He felt like an idiot, but that wasn’t the appropriate conversation starter. Honesty was the best policy, but would it be enough?

He focused on the food until it looked perfect, at which point he transferred it to a bowl and set it down on the counter. Dinner would be a good start, right? Or would it be too much like sucking up?

Nick lost himself in the dishes, allowing the rhythmic scrubbing and scraping to relax him. He didn’t get many chances to cook, detective work being a time-consuming energy suck, but he did enjoy it. The biggest bonus, in his opinion, was seeing the big smile on Judy’s face whenever he served her anything. Considering the way she’d gobbled down hay during the first five years of their partnership, it was possible she just lacked functioning taste buds, but Nick liked to think that aside from trusting him, she actually liked his food.

Sometimes, it was too hard to say what he thought and felt about her so he just tried to serve her instead. It was a way to give himself to her without tripping over concepts that were often not concrete enough to voice. He had a phrase for it now, _I love you,_ which rolled off the tongue fairly easily, but along with _I love you_ came dozens of hazards, including the lingering fear that she was just humoring him. Adding _too_ to _I love you_ was a bit of a copout. If he simply served her, she wouldn’t feel the need to say it back.

It was nearly eleven when Judy slid her key in the lock and let herself in. Nick had already finished the meal by then, and although she looked spooked, the very sight of her made him relax. She was okay, she was with him, and she didn’t need any immediate medical attention. “Well, look who’s here.”

“Who?” Judy looked around, pretending to miss the point. “I don’t see anybody but you and me.”

“And the ghost behind you,” he said dryly. “Boo.”

It had the intended effect of making her smile. “Nice to see you too, Slick. Is this all for me? I’m honored.”

“C’mon, sit down,” he urged.

She flexed her paw. It had the (presumably _un_ intended) effect of bristling his tail. He’d ended up watching her video five or six times, and that particular tic had stood out as something she did in her daily life, as well. Was it reflexive? Or was she grasping an imaginary tool? _(Crop,_ his Zoogle searches had yielded, and now there was no way in hell he’d let Judy see his search history. A summary of the rise and fall of lizard racing was one thing, but he now knew more about the extracurricular uses than he did about _suits.)_

Desperate to focus on something else, he split the food into two servings and asked, “So how did it go with Mr. Big?”

“Not good,” she admitted, leaning back against the counter with the bowl in her paw. They ate like this when they didn't want to eat on the couch. “Not bad, either, but I think we were wrong about Paul being involved. Remember – he gave me the go-ahead to go after Jack Savage, but I think that has less to do with Savage being a rogue element and more to do with Savage messing up _his city._ He mentioned that clean bodies turning up everywhere has been bad for business...and I think he did believe me when I said I wanted to do something _more,_ but I’m not as good at reading mammals as you are. I’m worried that he was just humoring me when he offered me a position in his operation.”

Nick choked on his bite. He hadn’t expected an offer so _soon._ Usually, Mr. Big led a mammal around by the nose, forcing them to ask for the position. Nick had been unusual in that he _hadn’t_ been given the run-around. Then again, he had his suspicions that Mr. Big was the reason his father was dead in the first place. There was no proof, but he’d been treated like a member of the family from the very beginning, and Mr. Big was not an altruist. At eighteen, though, he’d just been grateful for a roof over his head.

“What did you say?”

She shrugged and took a bite. A part of him was grateful that he didn’t have to pressure her into it. “I told him I’d need a while to get my affairs in order. I know Kat Castleberry has contacts within the MBI; maybe if I negotiate and tell them what I know, I could do a couple of jobs in exchange for amnesty. I have no intention of becoming a mob assassin, but what else could I say? I expected him to hem and haw like he does with everyone else. It wouldn’t look suspicious at all if I _pulled out of a slump_ and never mentioned it again. I miscalculated.”

“We both did,” he told her, watching closely. Her ears were flat against her back and her paws were shaking. ‘Spooked’ didn’t do justice to her state of mind, according to her body language. “Frankly, I don’t think this case has anything to do with him or his associates. I don’t think our ocelot friend was targeting the bears, either. Remember what Wolford said? He uses blades, not bullets.”

“Scat,” she summarized.

“On the plus side, we’re both alive and we have a tentative course of action.” Since when was he the optimist? “As long as we can take down the Big operation before he pressures you again...well...I have to know, Carrots, what’s going to happen to me?”

“If you’re not protected, there’s no deal,” she told him seriously. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said. You know how mammals work and you’ve got connections. I know the ins and outs of all kinds of law. If worse comes to worst, we’ll disappear. It’s normally the last thing I want to do, stop being a cop, but it’s better than losing you to the system. You’re a good mammal, Nick, and I won’t have it. Not ever.”

He grinned, taking the fire in her eyes as a good sign. He didn’t like the scenario one little bit, but it was better than inevitably dying in a cell, his legacy in ruins. “But what if I commit a terrible crime? Making a coat out of baby lizards or burning down that scathole you call an apartment building or, I don’t know, wearing red after Labor Day?”

“You shouldn’t wear red anyway, you heathen,” she said, flexing her paw again. “It makes you look like you’re not wearing anything. And, while _I_ certainly wouldn’t mind, my landlady would give you a tongue-lashing like no one’s business.”

“And I’m ever so worried about what your landlady thinks.”

“Well, maybe you have a point,” she said judiciously, “but _I_ care what she thinks. I don’t want to get kicked out because my best friend shows up half-naked.”

“If that happens, you should just come live with me,” he blurted, and he was almost proud of the way her expression changed from smug to flabbergasted. On the other paw, he’d just _said that out loud._ “I mean…”

“You would...you still want me to move in with you?”

He turned quiet, unable to look at her head-on. “I’ve said it before. I meant it then, too. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I just. I messed up last time, and...it’s a _gesture._ That sort of thing happens all the time, back in Bunnyburrow, punctilious politeness in the face of insult. _Give us a shout if you need anything. Don’t be too shy to ask if you need a place to stay._ But it’s never, you know, real. And everybody knows that. It’s a dance. You mess up and they’ll offer you imaginary cookies, which you’re required to turn down, while pretending not to degrade you to your face. I guess I still forget that city folks say what they mean more often, and I was already feeling guilty about our misunderstanding. It’s totally dumb, I know.”

“I wish you’d stop calling yourself dumb,” he said softly, reaching over the table to grasp her paw in his. “You don’t do yourself any favors by pretending the stereotypes apply to you. You’re smart as a whip.”

Her laughter had an edge to it, but it was still laughter. “How would you know how much a whip smarts?”

Against his own permission, he stiffened, and Judy cocked an ear when his heart rate rose. Of _course_ she’d hear it. He pretended it wasn’t happening. “Educated guess, based on that little movie you gave me.”

“Oh? And what did you think of it?”

“I think,” he said evenly, “that I should clean this up and you should draw up case notes about your time at Mr. Big’s mansion. We can’t share it with the department, but we can _look_ at it. You can take a look at mine, while you’re at it; I interviewed Bugbear and Matilda Leapyear again.”

“Oh, good call,” she gushed, seemingly distracted from their previous conversation. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk about it; he just needed a little time to get his thoughts in order. “I’ll get to it. Meet me on the couch, yeah?”

Nick slumped against the counter as the water ran onto their plates. The question was coming. Even if he put it off, she’d ask, and he didn't want to be dishonest or lead her around in circles. Being honest was hard, but so was everything worth doing. Detective work was hard. Friendship was hard. Loving Judy was hard. But where had taking the easy way gotten him? Paranoid, living under a bridge, and blackmailed into putting his life at risk. In the end, the only real easy thing was death, and that wasn't on his to-do list.

Once the dishes were snug in the rack, he turned to see Judy, eyes focused on the notepad in front of her. She was frowning slightly, chewing on the tip of her pen with her large front teeth – and in love or not, he was going to laugh if she got ink in her mouth again – but she wasn't unhappy, just absorbed in her work. It didn't take much to catch her intense interest. He really hoped they didn't have to disappear; his love for Zootopia aside, she was a _cop._ It was obvious to anyone who knew her.

Shaking his head fondly, he took the few steps toward the couch and sat down against it so that he could put his nose on the pad in her lap. She absently rubbed the back of his neck, carding her paw through the fur there, and he closed his eyes. That really did feel good.

“I’ll never get over how thorough you are,” she told him. “Whole quotes, actions...you've even catalogued their microexpressions. I'm good at puzzles, but you're on another level. Is that something you've always done? Or is it a trick?”

“A trick, definitely. You learn that kind of thing in my old line of work. You look at the whole of a mammal and make snap judgments. What's the best way to talk to him? What does she expect me to say? What’s their history? You don't always get it right, but the data doesn't change, only your interpretation of it.”

She hummed in thought, moving the pad out from under his nose. “You know, you could have been a real terror. Powerful...dangerous. Maybe unstoppable. Why did you stick to small-time hustles?”

He shrugged and leaned into her scritching. “I never wanted to hurt anybody. The thing about mammals is they’re happy being conned, as long as they get something out of it. Aside from some shady things that went badly in my late teens, the only one I ended up hurting was myself, with that whole not-paying-taxes thing. Everyone went home happy. I'm _not_ dangerous, Carrots. Real criminals would have eaten me alive.”

She leaned over to kiss him on the snout. “That’s just silly. Why would you underestimate yourself?”

“It’s just that sometimes I think I must seem all sorts of inadequate to you,” he admitted softly into her thigh, unable to get his back up through the haze of her petting. “You graduated top of your class and kept going. You can take down a rhino, Carrots. Sometimes it feels like you’re a real-life superhero and I'm just your child sidekick who stands around and marvels at how cool and clever you are. I'm grateful to be your partner but I keep wondering why you want _me_ instead of someone...I don’t know, _better.”_

She giggled just a bit. “Seriously? Nick, you’re dangerous, and I mean that in the most flattering way. You're a force to be reckoned with.”

“Not like you. You’re powerful.”

“Depends on how you define powerful,” she told him. “Most mammals forget to add in other factors. Intelligence, special skills. They focus so much on physical ability that they forget the things that are – arguably – more important. So I can beat up some belligerent drug dealer or abusive scumbag. Anyone who made it through training can do that. I might be better at it than you are, but that doesn’t mean you can’t. No, what makes you dangerous is your ability to see mammals. You don’t just see what they do, you see who they are. You get motive and intent from the way they speak and the way they move, and you don’t just see it, you understand it. I...truthfully, I envy you sometimes. I'm good at physical stuff, but you have real power. I love your brain. The way you work...I can never get to that level, and that’s okay. We have _different_ skills. That’s what makes us such good partners.”

“I'm not brave like you. I'm cautious of everything,” he continued, unable to keep it in despite her words of encouragement. “I count the exits, I keep my back to the wall, I never trust anyone except you. I'm glad to be armed even while hating the idea of having to shoot someone. I think about everything that could possibly go wrong and I worry _all the time_ that something could take me away from you or take you from me. I can’t stop hiding things around the city, and not even good things, just coins and pocketknives and basic survival stuff that you can buy at any supermart. I _hid behind you_ on more than one of our cases.”

“To be fair, that moose was a creep,” she returned lightly, poking him in the nose. “You do this job despite your fear, and that’s what makes you a brave mammal. Your caution makes you a good officer and more likely to stay alive. The hiding things...okay, that’s a little weird, but when the apocalypse hits, I know who I'm picking first for my zombie survival group. You keep me grounded. You’re smart, incredibly so. I wouldn’t change you for the world. You’re my treasure. Don’t be so hard on yourself; the stuff you hate so much is _good._ It makes you the kind of mammal who will always come out on top, and that kind of power is irreplaceable. You're not my sidekick, you’re my partner, and I’m in love with you because you’re you. Not because of who you could be if you changed something.”

He lifted his eyes and stared. She seemed so placid, as though this was all common knowledge, or unquestionable fact. Water exists, space is a thing, Nick is good. He didn’t have words for a long moment, and when he found the will to say something, it sounded a lot bitterer than he’d intended. “And what if all of this is a lie?”

“Then I fell for a lie,” she said bluntly, “and that’s sad, but I doubt it’s true. It’s one thing to con someone for a day, or even a month. Six years is long enough for the truth to surface, and if nothing else, you have been consistent. Liars get caught because they can’t keep their lies straight. I don’t doubt you have a folder full of old aliases somewhere, but Nick Wilde, ZPD...that’s not a lie.”

“You really do trust me,” he marveled.

“Get up here,” she told him, pulling her paw away from his neck. If she ever asked, the noise he made was _not_ a whine, thanks, and he stretched to cover it up before obliging her. As soon as he was settled, she took one of his paws and nuzzled it. “I do trust you. It’s unfair of me to expect you to just know that, but you see so much that I forget you don't know everything. You deserve to hear it, so I’ll say it as many times as it takes. I trust you with my life, Nick. Always.”

“Thank you,” he said, and there were lots of responses he could have given – _I trust you too, I adore you, I want this moment to last forever –_ but any words he said would be wholly inadequate. And really, he didn't need to say anything else.

“You made a note in your report about Matilda,” she said, reaching up to pet his neck again. He slumped down to give her better access.

“I made lots of notes.”

“Yeah, but this one stood out. You said she was acting cute.”

He winced. “I know it’s not okay to say, but…”

“It’s not, but that's not why it caught my eye. What was cute?”

“Her eyes were wide and she was tapping her fingers. _Taptaptaptap._ And the way she was moving her mouth when she talked...I can't explain it, but you know all those things you complain about when you say you can't be _that_ if you want to be taken seriously as an officer? You told me a few years ago that you trained yourself to not be. She was doing all of the things you hate doing. Looking back, I'm sure it was on purpose, but at the time I was trying to figure out who would want to keep Jack Savage alive.”

“Other than Matilda, you mean,” she teased.

“Okay, yeah, obviously she never got over it, but I'm talking about someone who has a list of mammals to kill.”

“Do you think she was trying to trick you? Play on your knowledge of bunnies?”

“If she was, she's _very_ good at it. I can feel it when mammals lie to me, and I didn't get anything weird from her at all. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say _she_ doesn't trust me, but she knows I love you, and she thought looking – being like _that_ would make me think of you.”

“I hate that,” she admitted. “I worked so hard to get where I am, and half the time all anybody sees is a cutie wearing a badge, or an affirmative action project, instead of a competent cop. I know you get it a lot too, but it’s just…”

“Frustrating,” he agreed. “Little fox kit gets it in the back and all the traditionalist media has to do is say he was _shifty_ and somehow that makes it okay, never mind that he was just a teenager. And everyone in the Precinct, just for a minute, wonders if I'm going to lose it or turn on them. Maybe not Fangmeyer. I can't ever really tell what they're thinking.”

“And see, that's the thing. I feel like I don't have the right to complain when someone calls me cute or dismisses me, because you've got it _worse-”_

“That doesn't matter.” She gave him a look that said pretty clearly she didn't believe him, so continued, “No matter who you are, someone’s got it worse. The whole point is to, maybe, get to a spot in our social...evolution, or whatever, where neither of us has to deal with that kind of derision. Species is incidental, but it's a really big deal to a lot of mammals, so even though we _want_ to, we can't pretend it isn't there. I dealt with it by giving them what they wanted. You dealt with it by proving them wrong over and over. Other than joining a movement or something, the only thing we can do is keep solving murders and thwarting terrorists and showing that we’re more than what we look like.”

“You don't think I'm cute, do you?”

“I guess that depends. I think you're just like me, except a little more terrifying, so if I’m cute...”

He let the sentence hang, enjoying the myriad expressions marching across her face. She seemed to be caught mostly between irritation and confusion, but her eyes were soft. Finally, she rolled her eyes and replied, “I think you’re a jerk, and you’re lucky I love you.”

“I am a jerk. A wastrel, even. I am _very_ lucky you love me.”

“Wastrel…?” She snorted. “I can always rely on you to remind me of high school English class. And, um. This is an obvious segue, because you said  _terrorist_ and it got me thinking about this case and I'm honestly too scared to think about that right now, but I really do want to know what you thought of that video I gave you. Just, you know, for professional purposes.”

“Professional, eh? You’ve heard me ramble on for _hours_ about films as art. You’re sure you want _that?”_

She nudged him with her elbow. “You know what I mean. I’ve never had anyone...you know, comment on my technique. From the outside.”

“Well,” he said carefully, not quite able to make any of the jokes that were running through his mind, “it was...pretty intense. Definitely not as sexual as I assumed it would be, but other than that, I can’t really speak to technique. I didn’t really peg you as the type to enjoy hurting other mammals, Carrots...even after you told me, I expected something...different.”

“That – the sex thing – is a common misconception, so don’t worry about _that,”_ she told him, a light grin across her muzzle. “It’s sort of sexual, I guess; at least, spanking isn’t a punishment for a child, not unless you’re a monster, but it’s like I said. I like to be in control. But I also like feeling useful. I like helping. I still want to make the world a better place, and sometimes doing that one mammal at a time isn’t so bad. Sometimes, if _I’m_ in a bad place, helping Kit get into the right headspace benefits me, too. I take care of her, and that helps me take care of me. That’s why I’ve been talking to you so much.”

He twisted his head so that he could look down at her. “I don’t follow.”

She shrugged and picked at her nails, watching her paws instead of returning his gaze. “You know I’m the physically affectionate type. I love hugs and kisses and tagging and holding paws and cuddling, not just for romantic purposes, but platonic ones too. But you’re not like that. You...you always feel better when someone _talks_ to you. I don’t know why you don’t show it, but I can tell. You don’t like to be the one talking, but every time someone says a nice thing to you, I see this shift, like you’re happier or more confident or something. I’m not great at that, knowing what the difference is, but I know _you._ I know you like to collect information on other animals because no one can harm you if you have dirt on them. I know you like to know everything about everyone because it helps you feel like you’re in control. So...even though I’m more of a doer than a talker, and being too honest is a risk, and sometimes the last thing I want to do is talk about myself, I’m open with you because I care about you. And especially with the medication I’m taking now, loving you makes me a better mammal.”

Nick had no idea what he’d done to deserve a friend like Judy, but he knew he wouldn’t give her up, not for anything. He closed his eyes, leaned over, and pressed his nose to the space between her ears, breathing in. Judy leaned up to lick around the corners of his mouth, and then…

Kissing really was for flat-faced mammals. Foxes generally didn’t do it; they weren’t shaped for it. Sure, they did lots of nuzzling with partners, they occasionally licked each other, and there were some kisses to the paw, but mouth-kisses didn’t come naturally. The angles were all wrong. Still, he wanted to kiss her, because she wanted it and because her mouth was beautiful and because she deserved _something_ from him. It was awkward at first, but he got the hang of it, and when she swung her leg over to sit in his lap, it seemed like a completely natural extension.

She grazed the fur on his abdomen with her nail-tips and he moved his paws up her torso, one going around her small shoulders and the other coming up to run the tips of his claws through the fur on the back of her neck. It was easy to lose himself in her, in her rhythmic rocking, but when she moved her mouth to nip at his neck and his whole body twitched pleasurably, he knew he had to speak up. He was breathless, nearly panting, but he managed it after a few false starts.

“Judy, _wait,”_ he gasped, gripping her hips in something like desperation. Everything was new, _intense,_ and he wanted her like he’d never wanted anyone before, but what did she want? Could he satisfy her? Would he fit? The logistics needed to be discussed, and of course, there was the matter of what to do with their organic mess afterward. Taking care of himself, in bed, was already an affair that required doing the laundry; he couldn’t bring himself to think of the repercussions of doing this on the _couch._

“Oh, Nick,” she murmured into the crook of his neck. She slid off his lap, looking guilty. “I'm sorry.”

She fled into his bathroom, closing the door behind herself, leaving him utterly confused.

What had just happened?

One thing was certain: he wasn’t going to let her continue to believe this – any of it – was her fault. Nearly buzzing with nervous energy, Nick followed and let himself in, taking care to stay close enough to the door that he could leave quickly if she told him to.

“What are you doing, Nick,” she asked, breathing his name rather than saying it.

“I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you,” he replied, heart pounding in his chest. He glanced briefly into the mirror and was surprised by how wild he looked. “You aren’t doing anything wrong. I have stupid hangups and I don’t want them to get between us anymore, so...can I come in there? With you?”

There was a lengthy pause during which his fur bristled in anxiety before she hummed. “Only if you want to.”

He took a deep breath and pulled his shirt over his head, kicked off his pants, and pulled back the curtain. She looked as bedraggled as he expected, not like a fur cleanser commercial but like a mammal caught masturbating in the shower. She was beautiful anyway. Shaking, he stepped over the lip of the tub and knelt in front of her. “May I help?”

She let out a breath. “Are you sure?”

“I am.”

He wasn’t. But he was willing to _try._

“What changed, Nick? I don’t want to pressure you, I know you said we should wait until I’m-”

“And that was a horrible thing to do,” he said, nosing her thigh, reveling in the way it made her eyes flutter. In between little kisses and licks to her hips and abdomen, he added, “It wasn’t fair. You're working hard and I’m making excuses. I’m scared of you, Judy. I’m scared of how close you are to me. I’m scared of how much power you have over me. I’m scared of letting go, and I’m scared of how much I _want to._ I’m going to need you to drive this part of our relationship, because I have _no idea_ what I’m doing, and the differences in our experience are...intimidating. But you turn me on, which is new for me, and I think it’s worth pursuing something we both want, even if it scares me. So I want to help. I want to, uh...I want to get you off. If you’ll let me.”

“O-okay, then.”

He leaned in and tentatively licked her right between her thighs, watching her face carefully. She didn’t seem to mind, so he continued, trying not to think about everything that went on where he was currently putting his tongue to use. Her head hit the shower tiles when the tip of his tongue wrapped around the little nub and he figured that was a good a place to concentrate his attention as he lifted one of her legs over his shoulder for better access.

It was an exercise in duality, her sensual noises sending pulses through his body and the thought of hygiene taking away from the experience. He hadn’t known he’d react this way, but he didn’t want to stop, not when she was so clearly enjoying herself. He focused on that. She was enjoying herself, and he wanted what she wanted, because he loved her.

Although the rational part of his mind knew a little water didn’t make it any more sanitary, the shower did help, as did her elated expression, the clenching of her abdomen, the joyous little noises coming from her throat. The slight sting from the tugs on his headfur helped him concentrate, reducing the world to the two of them, narrowing his focus to her pleasure. He did his best to make her louder until she contracted and squeezed his head with her strong thighs, pulling so hard on the fur between his ears it made his eyes go funny. He caught her mid-slump and watched her breathe, still spasming mildly.

She was _beautiful._

He felt slightly sick from the thought of what they’d done, but instead of pushing him to leave her, it made the whole experience more intense. He hadn’t just gotten her off, he’d done it at a cost, and that felt _good._ It felt right, giving himself to her like that. Nose hanging halfway off her shoulder, he murmured, “I love you. _So_ much.”

“Turn around,” she replied, reaching down to stroke him. He stiffened as a new feeling hit. He’d never had anyone else touch him like that; even his masturbatory excursions were usually fairly lackluster, taking care of business rather than the enjoyable thing everyone seemed to think it was. This was entirely different. Her strong paw gripped him firmly and his eyes went a little funny again. “Come on, Nick, I want you to get off too.”

He obeyed, feeling exposed as he splayed out against the back of the shower. His feet pressed against the far side of the tub, holding him in place as she cupped his testicles and licked a sure line up the shaft of his penis. He shook, even as she made a frustrated sound. “I won’t be able to fit you in my mouth, not without hurting you.”

“Th-that’s okay. I – _oh.”_

Her dark laugh sent another thrill through him, compounded by the movement of her paws. It seemed that despite the physical setback, Judy had no intention of stopping. He wondered if she’d stop if he asked her to, but he didn’t want to ask, not when it felt so good. He didn’t want to push her away, either. This was as much about intimacy as it was about physical pleasure.

Using a gentle finger, she rubbed the space below his testicles and he arched slightly, his hips jerking in a way he hadn’t seen coming. She was entirely in control here, coaxing involuntary whines from his chest, guiding his body in a kind of dance. He pulsed along with her stroking, for the most part, except when she let it rest for a moment. The irregularity of her movements took the last of his control from him and he surrendered wholly to her lead, closing his eyes and trying not to grab her with his paws. He didn’t think he could keep his claws from digging in and he didn’t want to hurt her.

“Judy,” he moaned, knowing what was coming, hoping to warn her. “I – _oh –_ I’m-”

“Come on,” she whispered. “Don’t hold back, Nick. I want to see you. I love you.”

That was what did it. He emerged fully, elated and zinging with energy, and with only a few extra jerks, Judy had him where she wanted him, sky-high and malleable. It felt like it would last forever, and it felt like it hadn’t lasted long enough. He opened his eyes to her gobsmacked expression. As he panted, she informed him, “That was...a lot more than I’ve ever seen.”

“Good thing we’re in the shower,” he said stupidly, which made her snort.

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you that you’re gorgeous, but they should have.” She inhaled and helped him stand. He was surprised at how tired he was. He’d thought that he would have _more_ energy, considering he hadn’t done much of the work himself, but that wasn’t the case at all. “Where's the soap – Nick, why do you have – of _course_ you’d have blueberry fur cleanser. Dumb fox.”

He wanted to make a quip, something that would give him control over the conversation, but he had a moment of sudden, pleasing realization: he didn’t need to. He had already given more to Judy than he’d ever intended, and she had no plans to hurt him with it.

He kissed her between the ears and listened to her laugh instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone’s curious, the dish Nick was making was a vegan version of Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki, which is what I make when I’m feeling sad or I’ve had a bad day. The real version, though, not the vegan alternative. It’s not the easiest thing in the world to make, but it’s not hard either, and it just makes you feel good.


	9. Hellraisers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick gets clear about his intentions with Judy, who thinks he's adorable. They make a few arrests. Nick interrogates the culprit. Our heroes chat a little about mistakes and how to fix them. They try to drink tea but distract each other. It's almost like they're anthropomorphic police officers in a work of fan fiction that is distinctly NSFW, if you can believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to get real: as I've previously stated, my initial vision for this was a ridiculous, over-the-top serial killer joke with a big dose of equally silly mob violence. I thought I needed to intersperse the ridiculousness with real issues to ground it, and I still think that was a good idea, but I never meant for it to be more than 8 chapters or so. It was supposed to be a parody of both the idealization of violent crime; e.g., Hannibal, the Godfather; and the "Nick does _x_ terrible thing for very cliché and dramatic reasons" type of story. (I mean what does it say about our fandom that writers love to insert extra angst and sketch into a highly marginalized character when his whole character arc was about becoming that loyal, brave, and trustworthy Junior Ranger Scout and learning that no, the whole world isn't out to fuck him over? That writers use police corruption as a vehicle for romantic drama instead of commentary on the state of affairs?) As such, this was supposed to be the inverse: Judy betrays _her_ character and becomes sketchy AF for reasons that only make sense if you're a douchebag. I had 4 potential endings, and all but one of them were some variant of "whoops, we were super dumb and ruined our own lives, now what!?"
> 
> Obviously this didn't happen. As stupid things often do, this spiraled out of control. People read this and kudosed it and commented and suddenly it wasn't just silly practice for my first-ever college English class, it was a thing I had to think about. I still have a juicy ending planned, but once I finish, I might need to go and re-write big chunks of this to either make it more obviously absurd or more realistic. I believe I got the mix right in my finished story, _Bad Boars Ain't Got Nothin' On Us,_ but this one was my first attempt at narrative fiction – up to this year I'd never written anything – and I really fucked it up, I think. Going forward, I will be gradually shifting characterization. Maybe much-needed honesty and better mental health due to therapy and meds are cop-outs, but eh. I just can't do it anymore. Teh draaaahmaaaaa is killing me. I really did read Judy as slightly sadistic and socially awkward in the movie though, so those are definitely staying.
> 
> MassGains, thank you for cheering me on. In my training montage, you were using a megaphone to call me a cabbage-headed noodlebrain over an ‘80s power ballad.

Waking up with Judy in his arms was not a new experience, but it was, all the same. Any reservations he might’ve had were washed away by relief. It was possible – probable, even – that they wouldn’t be entirely compatible in terms of size, but she’d seen him at his worst, at his ugliest, and she still wanted him. He hadn’t been disappointing. She hadn’t hurt him, and he hadn’t hurt her, and he felt stupid for even entertaining the idea that it might happen.

Judy would wave it off, call him a pragmatist, because she did that. She accepted him even when the truth was bitter. So he would have to be careful when he apologized for the lack of trust. Nick knew that she didn’t mean it maliciously, but dismissing apologies as unnecessary felt a lot like dismissing his integrity, as fragile as it may have once been. Part of being his own mammal, a _good_ one, was owning up to his mistakes and accepting some kind of consequence for them, even if it was just the vaguely uncomfortable shame of having to apologize. That was what the bunny in his arms believed, at any rate, and it was a sound theory, even if she didn’t always think _he_ needed to practice it.

She was so beautiful. And _small._ With her curled up in his arms like this, he could hardly recognize the strong, capable detective he worked with every day. He realized, for the first time in years, why animals still had trouble accepting her as a cop. He wanted to protect her from everything – the world, the dangers of the job, _himself –_ but he wouldn’t. Not unless she asked it of him. Just as he wanted to accept the consequences, good and bad, for his own choices, she wanted the same; Nick had a feeling that she’d lied about her scars so that he wouldn’t excuse her mistakes out of pity. He hadn’t agreed to become her partner just to denigrate her further.

They needed to talk about that, probably. He was still a little frustrated about the way she’d taken responsibility for their mistake in the tunnels. And although her random overprotective streaks were not primary concerns to him, he didn’t want it to fester like their difference of opinion about their earlier interactions. As amazing as it was to be able to take a step in the more romantic direction with her, above all else, he wanted to remain her best friend, her partner, someone she could rely on. That was not something they could have if there was resentment between them. It was not possible without trust.

 _On our next day off,_ he promised himself.

“Hey,” he whispered, rubbing her belly with his paws. Her ear twitched, flapping against his nose. “It’s time to get up, Detective Hopps.”

Strict routines had made him an early riser, though he never felt truly awake until after about 16 ounces of coffee. They had eleven minutes left before the alarm would go off, but if Judy was awake, they could both enjoy eleven minutes of closeness before the morning got busy.

“They didn’t ask for directions,” she murmured sleepily. He wondered what bizarre dream she was having.

“I’m sure they’re very sad. You’re an excellent directions-giver,” he teased, tracing with his claw-tips where he’d been rubbing earlier. She shuddered and opened her eyes.

She performed some kind of half-stretch that made them parallel curves and had the (intended, maybe) effect of pressing her rear into his lap. “Hmm. Morning, Nick.”

Was he supposed to be turned on? Judy was stunning, but it wasn't like he wanted her right that second. Physical reactions showed up at random; sometimes touching her was all he could think about, and sometimes it was a terrifying thought he didn't _want_ to have. Was that normal?

“Whatever you're thinking,” she told him, “It’s going to give you gray fur. What's up?”

“I was just wondering,” he said, and then he frowned and gestured downward. “Are we okay? I mean – if I'm not always – you enjoyed last night, right?”

“Of course I did,” she assured him. She turned to face him and her paw went up to rub the side of his muzzle. “I always enjoy you. Even when you're being silly.”

“It’s not _silly.”_

Her smile dropped and she scooted closer, apparently trying to meld her body to his. It didn’t work, but it was a nice feeling anyway. “Are you really worried? Nick, I...I love you. You’re not a casual thing to me. If you didn’t like what we did last night, I won’t be mad, or-”

“No, _no,_ I did, I promise.” Nick wished he had more experience, because he wasn’t sure how to even _talk_ about their minor sexual encounter without sounding like a child. “I want to do it again. Try new things. Get to know you on a more physical level, if we’re on the same page. But I'm not _normal,_ I guess. God knows I’ve tried, but you're the first mammal to make me feel – different. There's always this quiet chaos in my head, but last night it went _silent._ That's the first time I've ever managed it. I don't know where this is going anymore, but...I guess what I'm trying to say is that I might not be able to get to that place every time you want to be there, or even every time _I_ want to be there, but it’s not on you. I promise. You're the one, Judy. The only one for me.”

“I know you're not exactly like me,” she told him, bringing his paw up to her mouth to give it a kiss. “I'm physical. I'll be the first to admit it. But I fell in love with your mind, okay? I fell in love with who you are. That your body is _really_ attractive is secondary. It’s a perk, not a requirement. If our relationship needs twice-daily sex to survive, it’s not much of one.”

“Twice _daily,”_ he yelped. “There's no way anyone does that!”

She grinned. “You're the only mammal I've dated who didn't _expect_ it. You and I are going to have time to _watch_ the movies we say we’re going to watch, and that alone would make you better than everyone else.”

The alarm clock went off then and she added, “Dibs on first shower, unless you want to join me.”

“I'm good,” he told her, and her smile didn't change as she jumped over him and raced to the bathroom.

She really _meant it._ She didn't expect him to change. A knot he hadn't been aware of eased in his chest. She loved him, flaws and all, and unlike his ex, she hadn't once told him he was broken.

* * *

Wolford’s team was ready early. The contact on the inside had already been prepped and safely given an out, and Nick and Judy were outfitted with tactical gear on what should have been a day off. It was gear that didn't fit her properly. That was fine; they both had plenty of experience working with too-large gear, after all; but it still made Nick a little nervous. Judy was tiny, and the standard gear couldn't be sized for rabbits, so she had to wear gear sized for Nick. What if someone managed to get a shot between her plates? What if it weighed her down in a skirmish?

No. This was precisely what Wolford had warned about. Judy knew the risks of her job. She was trained to deal with perps of all sizes. She could take care of herself, and he had to trust her to do so. What they did was inherently dangerous. He couldn't let his feelings for her get in the way of their duties.

"All right, Wilde?" Nick didn't know Grizzoli very well, only that he was part of vice and that he had a string of successful undercover ops behind him. "This is new for you both."

"It is. But I think we're fine," he replied, ears on Grizzoli and eyes on Judy. She was beaming at Wolford as he helped her with the awkward buckle on the back. 

"Didn't ask about Hopps. I asked about you."

 _"I'll_ be fine." He faced the larger officer this time, trying not to snarl. It wasn't Grizzoli's fault that he was so on edge and the question had probably been innocent. Mild-to-moderate speciesist incidents aside, Nick knew intellectually that not every question about his well-being was code for distrust of foxes. Sometimes a question was just a question, and if he wanted to stay part of the pack, he needed to maybe believe in his fellow officers a little more. If they were going to be jerks, they would be, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. "I won't lie, I'm not exactly  _excited_ to make an arrest for a department we worked our tails off to avoid, but hey, we all have to take one for the team. Especially in this case. Sooner we get this garbage off the streets, the better."

That was the unvarnished truth. Nick didn't know who the supplier was, but they were about to raid what seemed to be an underground distribution center of sorts, so they would either find the supplier there or round up enough mammals to find out the answer. Most of their targets would probably be innocent victims, addicts coming to a safe place with clean needles and an untainted supply, and that was the most insidious part of the operation. It was clean and organized. Whoever the supplier was, they were smart enough to buy out an apartment building and use the drug money to keep the place running. The more addicts sought shelter in the building, the more money was available, and those who couldn't pay still donated...other services. Sex. Entertainment. Janitorial duties. Honestly, it was a well-oiled operation that would put Mr. Big on the defensive if he dealt in the drug trade. Fortunately, he didn't. Zootopia wasn't ready for a mob war. The potential for collateral damage was dizzying.

"You said it. Hey. Be careful in there, okay?"

Nick blinked at the sudden change in tone. Grizzoli sounded...sincere. "I will. I'm really only there to make an arrest. Hopps is the obvious target."

"Yeah, which means you gotta make sure you keep yourself safe. So you can provide backup," said an officer whose name Nick didn't know. She was a smaller wolf than Wolford, but only just.

"I've got LOS on Jacobs," said a voice on the radio. Unless Nick missed his guess, it was Warren Heather, a tiger whose scores at the range surpassed even Judy's. Heather wasn't part of vice, and Nick wouldn't trust him to have his back in a smaller operation, but having Heather keep a gun on one of the two most dangerous mammals in the operation was a good idea. "Can't see their Wilde, but we've got you all for legwork. Lieutenant, it's up to you to make the call."

"I want Hopps and our Wilde to follow Smith and Partridge," said Wolford immediately. "To keep it straight, we're calling their Wilde Luna. The rest of you follow. Secure the building, but leave the arrests to Hopps and Wilde. We want this to be a smooth op. Smith, Partridge, go."

Nick followed the wolf and the boar, Partridge and Smith respectively, feeling Judy's presence solid at his side. Her right ear was twitching. She probably hated the earpiece she'd been assigned; it was large even in his ear-hole, and itchy. The static would be nigh-intolerable to her. It was clear that she was not made for this kind of work, and it was a good thing they were zoicide instead of vice. At least in zoicide, they didn't usually have to sneak up on anyone. It wasn't an accident that the mammals chosen for the team were the smallest officers vice had to offer; any larger than Smith, and they wouldn't be able to fit through the doorways. This was a delicate job that had the potential to go sour. It made tactical sense to use Nick and Judy in such a small space with small culprits, and while he worried about his partner, he shoved that to the back of his mind. 

No room for doubt on the job.  

The apartment building sprawled outward, but thankfully not upward. There was a basement on the plans from City Hall, but it was not a big building overall; if they were careful, they could probably get through every room within half an hour. The first door Smith opened let out an absolutely foul smell, not quite the scent of death but rather one of rot. Illness. Nick peered around the doorframe to see a makeshift infirmary, complete with IV trees he wasn't sure were filled with anything medicinal. Heroin and morphine were technically equivalents, but that didn't mean heroin could be used as a substitute for morphine as pain relief. 

"Woolworth. Cover," Smith commanded quietly. The ewe stood at the doorway, keeping a wary eye on the sleeping "patients" and the hallway. The group then split in half, with the larger mammals on the squad taking the rest of the ground floor and Partridge leading Nick, Judy, and a few other team members down to the basement. It made sense; Heather had a sniper rifle trained on Pawlee Jacobs, who probably wouldn't put up a fight around large mammals in tactical gear, and Luna Wilde would probably be somewhere else. From what Nick gathered, she was in charge of storage and general maintenance, which meant that she was more likely to be in the basement. It was an open area, though somewhere between the time the building had gone up and the time the op had purchased it, walls had been added by a contractor. No doors, according to the firm, which would make things easier...or harder, depending on how many mammals were in the basement and how many of them were able to do more than lie there and drool.

"What the," whispered Partridge quietly, and Nick leaned around him to get a look at the open space. He was tempted to echo the detective's sentiment.

Sitting on the floor in the dust was Will Pawlish, eyes closed and paws clasped around the paw of a young rabbit, perhaps sixteen years old or so. He was mouthing something against her fur. It looked like a prayer. His eyes snapped open and his ears twitched toward the door, but he didn't stand up to run. He didn't even move, other than to grip the girl's paw a little tighter.

"Will Pawlish," said Judy quietly, stepping around Smith to get a good look at him. Nick followed with his weapon unholstered, doing his job to have her back. It was, after all, their duty to make any arrests of small mammals, and Pawlish definitely qualified. "I'm surprised to see you here."

"And I'm surprised to see your partner alive, but here we are," Pawlish replied, but his voice didn't seem antagonistic. It was more flat than anything. He sounded - and looked - exhausted. "You've caught me hip-deep in a drug warren. I suppose I'm under arrest again. Toss me the cuffs; I'll put them on myself, just...promise me that Rachel will be taken care of."

"Rachel. That girl," Judy asked, kicking the cuffs across the floor so that she could keep her weapon trained on Pawlish. "Is she sick?"

"She's an addict," he snapped in response. "Look, I'll tell you what you want to know,  _whatever_ you want to know, I swear I'll even waive my right to an attorney, as long as you promise me you'll keep her safe."

And he snapped on the cuffs, struggling a little with the second one. He was not, Nick noticed, wearing metal claws or scentblock. He smelled...familiar, but Nick couldn't place the scent. A wolf or elephant would have been able to, probably. Nick allowed himself a private moment of frustration at the largest problem with being a fox on the force: his talents, while vast, tended to be less effective than those of other mammals. Good sense of smell, but not as good as a wolf's. Good night vision, but not as good as a cat's. Good hearing, but not as good as a rabbit's. His usefulness was his ability to connect - both the little clues that put together a whole picture _and_ with other mammals - and his network, while equally vast, had shrunk a good bit during his stint as a police officer.

But that wasn't important. The operation was important. He could wallow in self-pity afterward, if he wanted, but it was hardly worth it, considering how hard he'd worked to get where he was. It was all right to not be the best, as long as what he did was still valuable, and it was.

"EMS will come in as soon as we secure the building," Nick promised Pawlish, as it seemed Judy wasn't going to. She was staring at the girl with a funny look on her face, something between horror and compassion. 

"She's just a kit," Judy whispered, and then a quiet voice sounded in everyone's ear, so whatever she'd intended to say was cut off.

"We've got Luna up here. Apartment 8."

"Sapling, Padams, take the room and make sure Pawlish doesn't go anywhere," ordered Partridge. "Hopps, Wilde, with me."

"Sir," Nick chorused along with Judy, and followed.

It felt like they were creeping up on answers as they headed to apartment 8. He'd felt it a few times before, on other cases; like they were on the brink of something, and all they had to do was tip a little to see the whole sordid story. It was almost surprising, but Nick rather preferred the feeling on his very first vice case to the feeling of zoicide; usually in zoicide it meant facing more death, but in this case, it meant saving mammals who were still alive. There was more risk here, but there was more reward, too. Judy detested the idea of vice, because she was still not great with shades of gray and believed that getting murderers off the streets was a more worthy cause, which was a fair point of view. Nick, though, had seen enough of the city's worst secrets to know that there were fates worse than death, and drug suppliers liked to get animals hooked young so that they would be dependent on the operation to function. It was truly a sickening practice.

The door to apartment 8 was open. Luna Wilde was standing, paws in the air, facing the armed team. Her foot was tapping at the floor nervously, but as soon as she saw Judy, she shouted, "Duck and run, Pawlee!  _RUN!"_

"Dammit," said Heather in their ears.

Wolford's voice came next. "Hopps, pursue. Wilde, cover. Smith, cuff Luna, but if you are anything less than gentle I will have your guts for garters."

Nick couldn't help but snort as he tore off after Judy. What an expression. He wanted to say something to alleviate the pressure building in his chest - the  _thrill of the hunt,_ some would call it, but Nick thought that was a touch obscene - but he couldn't, not to Wolford, not when the team was listening. Judy would laugh at whatever joke he told, but they were part of a bigger unit. Jacobs turned the corner and escaped out a window, pulling a dowel out to allow it to close. It took a moment before they got it open again, but in the process, Nick got a decent whiff of Jacobs' scent. 

With Judy's ears and Nick's nose, once they'd reopened the window, they caught up to the lynx quickly at the end of an alley. She didn't bother to try to climb the fence, which Nick found odd; instead, she whipped around and drew her firearm. Judy pulled him down just in time to avoid the bullet, but Jacobs was moving already, jumping up to the top of the fence while they splayed on the ground. Judy drew her gun, but Nick knew that avoiding lethal action was essential to the operation, so he dove after Jacobs, drawing on some ancestral instinct to jump higher than he ever had before, a great leap that gave him enough height to bring her down off the fence. She growled and brought out her claws, having dropped her firearm on the other side.

Judy stood at the ready, her gun trained on Jacobs, but she knew just as well as he did that they needed to keep things as nonlethal as possible. She didn't shoot. Nick ducked under a swipe from Jacobs' claws, coming up with a jab at her sternum. Unfortunately, it wasn't that easy; she jumped back and crouched on all fours before launching herself at the fence again, kicking out with her feet to make it difficult to grab her. Nick pulled her down again and grappled with her briefly, but she caught him across the face, making his sight go fuzzy and his ears ring. He staggered back, disoriented, and Judy shouted something he couldn't hear. He did hear the shot, though, and he smelled the blood. It wasn't enough to signal death, though, and as Nick watched Jacobs disappear over the top of the fence, he felt bitter disappointment. He'd trained better than that. He'd taken hits harder than that. 

And how had Judy  _missed?_

The feel of her paw on his muzzle brought Judy into focus. He could see that she was standing on a box to get a good look in his eyes, although he still had trouble telling one word from another. It took a moment to realize that she was asking if he was okay, and he wasn't, but he didn't want to say that aloud with the team in his ear -  _oh._ The ringing wasn't from the blow to his head, it was from damage to the earpiece. He took it out and dropped it, already feeling less dizzy. "I'm okay. That last hit severed the wires in the earpiece, I think. Made me a little sick."

"And still, you jumped," said Judy, stroking his muzzle. He closed his eyes and leaned into it. "I barely even grazed her. I was too afraid of hitting you. All of Wolford's warnings and I was still the one who messed it up."

"We'll get her," he promised, eyes still closed. "We have Pawlish now, remember? And we have leverage over him, so he'll probably do what we say. Plus I know what Jacobs smells like, and so do the other noses on the team. We'll find her and bring her in. Later."

"Later had better be quick, if we want to find her before she moves on," she said, and she wasn't wrong, but there was nothing they could do but interrogate Wilde and Pawlish and hope for good info.

* * *

 Judy sat next to him, giving Will Pawlish a hard stare. The other rabbit didn't look very confident this time. In fact, he looked a little sick. 

"You should know," said Nick, deciding to play "nice cop" without actually being nice, "we checked that girl - Rachel? - into the hospital. Just in time, too. She was so drugged up they thought she was going to die. But she pulled through, so hey, your underage girlfriend will be fine."

"My underage - Officer, that is  _disgusting._ Rachel is my niece," said Pawlish. "She's my only family, and there was no way I was going to allow further harm to come to her."

Nick didn't actually know if Rachel was okay. It wasn't like hospitals would breach HIPAA just to help the police interrogate anybody. For all he knew, the young bunny was already in the hospital morgue, tagged as a Jane Doe. That didn't matter. All he had to do was make sure that Pawlish talked. This was the most unpleasant part of police work, but also (if he was honest with himself) the most fun. It reminded him of the better parts of street life, sweet-talking mammals into doing what he wanted, but with none of the inherent risks of con artistry. "Well, that's good, isn't it? Aren't you just so glad to know she'll be all right?"

"Yes! God, please just stop. You saved me a lot of trouble, you know - saved her from Jack rutting Savage, so now I can-"

"Hang on," said Judy, eyes narrow. "Jack Savage is a murderer, not some kind of...drug kingpin."

Nick tried not to look  _too_ amused at her choice of words. For all that she'd been trained to be a cop, a lot of her worldview was still influenced by her childhood in Bunnyburrow. The comics and movies she'd grown up with were...well, dramatic, to say the least. Pawlish, for his part, seemed to take it in stride. "Why do you think those mammals died? Surely you didn't think it was random?"

"We saw the pattern," Nick put in smoothly, cutting Judy off before she could say something impulsive. She was great at catching criminals, but she didn't quite have the patience for this part. Normally they didn't do the interview - nobody would say interrogation anymore; something about language influence and law enforcement culture, Nick didn't really care - but Pawlish had specifically requested to talk to them. Everyone was motivated to close this case. "The murders themselves are not the issue here, are they? What we're after is the name of the supplier. We know Luna Wilde and Pawlee Jacobs are involved, but our source was never able to determine the head of the operation. I assume that he calls himself Jack Savage, but that can't be his real name."

"He?" Pawlish blinked. "He who? Jack is female. And she's a real cutthroat, too. Got my niece hooked on the clean stuff before I could even catch that she was  _doing_ drugs, and then held her life hostage. Wouldn't give her what she needed to  _survive_ if I didn't...but it's over now."

Nick's stomach sank lower with each word.  _Jack is female,_ went Pawlish's voice over and over again.  _Jack is female. Jack is female._ "Does Jack have any other names?"

"Alice Liddell, when she thinks she's alone with Luna, but I don't know which one is an alias. Look, that one guy - the ocelot - he was my first and last. Jack sent him out on a stupid mission he couldn't possibly complete and I was supposed to...clean up the mess. But you saw me, so I had to think of  _something,_ and I just...I don't know, my first movie was for a tiny indie company. It followed the adventures of an assassin. The dialogue was _terrible._  But that's not the point. What you heard was mostly either a quote or a paraphrase. Then Jack, or Alice, whatever, told me to get rid of you in the exact way I tried at the Henhouse, and it never even crossed my mind to think that maybe  _I_ was supposed to die in that diner. I just wanted Rachel to be okay. Today was the first day I've been able to see her in so long...we only ever talked over the phone...maybe this is another setup, or a  _test,_ I don't know, but at this point I'd rather take my chances in jail than let Jack ever get her paws on Rachel again."

Judy smiled at Pawlish. It seemed genuine enough, but Nick knew her well. She was fraying a little. It was written into her body language, but after years on the force, she had more self-control than to let it show. "Do you know the name Matilda Leapyear?"

Good. She was on the same page.

"Jack's girl? Well, old girl, I guess. Some soldier who died over a decade ago, I think. It's why Luna never had a chance with Jack, not that either of them think I know anything. But I do. I'm good at being quiet."

Nick exchanged a look with Judy, who looked troubled. He understood the feeling. He turned a sympathetic smile on Pawlish and said, "I'm glad you told us this. We're going to take care of Rachel, okay? Just give a formal statement to the officer who's about to come in. We need to go do some research and then arrest the wretch who hurt your family."

“Just be careful,” warned Pawlish quietly. “She’s killed a lot of mammals for less than catching her.”

Nick and Judy left the interview room. He wasn’t sure about Judy, but he was almost shaking with nervous energy at the revelations. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long for her to verify his assumptions.

“We sat with her,” she said, disgusted. “We sat on her couch. She joked with me. She made me think that we…I’m such an _idiot._ It was so nice to meet another city bunny who actually understood what it’s like. I didn’t _want_ to think it could be her…”

“It’s not your fault, Hopps. I wasn’t objective either.” He frowned. “She’ll know not to go back to her apartment; she’s smart enough to realize that we have Pawlish in custody and she’s lost her leverage. He has no reason not to talk to us. I don’t know where to start now, but we have to start somewhere; _this_ was the piece we were missing. This is the bigger picture. If we can find her, we can close both cases.”

“I think I might be able to help you,” said Grizzoli from beside them. Nick looked way, way up and still couldn’t quite make eye contact. “My old partner used to tell stories about his first bust in vice. I know I’ve heard the name Alice Liddell before. I wouldn’t have remembered on my own, but I know it has to do with heroin. Might not be the same one, but it’s worth a shot, right?”

“Anything is worth a shot if we can nail this murdering piece of garbage,” Judy said. It was quiet, but not dark. Almost…sad. “What’s your partner’s name?”

“His name was Doethan Velvet. He was a deer. Really great guy, but he took a rhino horn in the back and lost feeling from the waist down. I can give you his number and address. I go and check in on him sometimes.”

“That is fantastic. Thank you, Grizzoli,” said Nick, and it was entirely sincere for once.

* * *

Doethan Velvet lived in a sweet little house on Pinewood Drive, the kind that looked like a gingerbread house without the candy. There was a whole row of them all along the south side of the street, each hiding behind equal rectangles of sod and identical trees. Nick hated it immediately, but he suspected that on a government pension this was the best Velvet could afford.

Judy took care of the knocking, but when they heard a faint voice say the door was open, Nick turned the knob so she wouldn’t have to jump. She was always vaguely embarrassed when she had to do that, as it was another reminder of the vast differences between her and the rest of their coworkers.

The inside of the house looked just as generic, but most of Nick’s focus went toward the deer who lived there. Even in his wheelchair he positively towered over Judy, and Nick wasn’t much better off. He was the largest deer Nick had _ever_ seen, and his arms were the kind of muscular that made Nick imagine his head getting crushed like a grape.

“Huh. A bunny and a fox in uniform. Times _have_ changed,” Velvet said neutrally.

“Not so much as you might think,” Judy countered. “I’m Judy Hopps and this is my partner, Nick Wilde. We’re here about an old case of yours. I mean technically it’s our case, but we think it might have a connection to an old one. Your case notes don’t have details like the names of victims or anything, but during your first heroin bust, you met a bunny named Alice Liddell. We’re looking for information about her.”

Velvet blinked. “Well, I don’t remember much about her. That was a long time ago, and I haven’t been a cop in years. I do remember her, though, because she asked me to keep her name off the record. See, she was undercover for some military agency. We thought she was a victim at first, seeing as she was so high she could only mumble, but I got the whole story from her eventually. Undercover ops were different back then. It wasn’t just information, you had to participate. She was a genuine addict, but…well, that was a risk you had to take back in those days.”

“What do you remember about her,” asked Nick.

“You know? One thing I remember pretty well was that she was…kind of funny in the head, even off the drugs. I thought it was an addict thing – doing everything in fours and counting her syllables so that every sentence was a multiple of four – and then I thought maybe she was just ultra-religious, since she did the sign of the compass every time someone said “angry” or “frustrated” or anything like that. See, my daughter did similar things and I worried she was on drugs too, but as it turns out it was just some psychology thing about counting too much. Or was it being obsessed with door locks? I don’t know, she ran off with some idiot from River Valley and never came back.”

“Did…” Judy paused, and then asked firmly, “Was Alice brown-furred, or did she have white fur with black stripes?”

“She was definitely stripy. Kind of funny-looking, _I_ thought, but who am I to judge? I don’t really know what passes for beauty among bunnies. No offense.”

“Oh, none taken. We bunnies are a little weird,” she replied, but if it was sincere Nick would eat his badge.

"Thank you for your time," he found himself saying. "Hopps and I need to re-work our angle, but you've been very helpful."

"It wasn't a problem. I don't get visitors anymore. Hey, did Alice turn out all right?"

"No," Judy replied, again sounding sad. "Alice died a long time ago."

As they made work of the usual niceties, cut blessedly short by Velvet's understanding of the value of  _time,_ Nick thought furiously. If Jack Savage had been an addict with obsessive-compulsive disorder who posed as Alice Liddell - and if Matilda Leapyear was using both names as aliases - could it be that this whole thing was about the real Jack after all? The thing with the fours...keeping her apartment arranged like a paranoid mammal would...going after targets that had tangential relations to Mr. Big, who was probably the cause of Jack's death...the  _heroin_ trade...was it possible that she was getting back at the whole city for what had happened to her lover? It seemed unrealistic, but what else could it possibly be?

It was possible that Matilda Leapyear wasn't the culprit at all, but Nick's instincts had never failed him before.

"I don't think we should really leave," she told him, voice low, as soon as they pulled the door shut behind them.

"Why?"

"Because I think we've been _followed."_ She jerked her head to the side. "That car over there followed behind us all the way from Central Park. I didn't think anything of it at first, because lots of mammals go to Central Park and some of them live in this area. But considering the fact that it's a car sized for you, it was parked on the side of the road that doesn't show us its back plate, and this neighborhood is sized for larger mammals...I don't think it's coincidence. It could be, but I don't think we should take chances. Whoever followed us might try to kill Velvet before he can say anything official. The car's empty, but they could be hiding in the trunk."

"And a hunch isn't enough for a warrant or probable cause. So we drive around the corner and sneak back," he answered, settling into an easy slouch and leading the way toward their car. "Whoever they are, they'll want to wait a minute to make sure we're really gone, and then they'll come out of hiding. If it's nothing, we've wasted time, but I agree: we shouldn't take chances, not on someone's life."

Judy grinned at him and hopped into the driver's seat, laughing like he'd told a joke. When he'd settled into the passenger seat, she leaned over and kissed him on the muzzle, just a little farther up than the corner of his mouth. He stuck his tongue out and licked her cheek, knowing she'd push him a little. Domestic. Normal. And absolutely a show, but it still felt good to play a little. Nick had learned young how to deal appropriately with high-stress situations, but he'd never liked them. He liked it when things were simple and easy, everything in its right place.

As Judy drove around the corner, Nick kept his attention on their rear mirrors, watching Velvet's house until he could no longer see it. She put the car in park and they crept between the fence and the hedge, dropping low so that nobody else would see them. It was tense; the air felt heavy and thick around them, even though it was a clear afternoon. At least they were hidden and relatively safe where they were. Since they had just left the premises, their scents would remain even if they had truly left, and they were both trained to sit quietly. They could do this. They could handle whatever came next.

It was only two minutes before the trunk of the car opened. Through the greenery, Nick could make out two forms: a rabbit, and a lynx. The rabbit got into the driver's seat of the car while the lynx began to load a gun. Nick began inching toward the cracked window of Velvet's house, trusting Judy to understand and follow. By the time they'd reached it, the lynx was ready; there was a wild moment in which Nick was  _sure_ she'd seen them climbing through the window, but she continued on as though she hadn't. 

"What in the ever-loving-"

"Please, we need you to get to a safe place," said Judy, cutting off Velvet's outburst and hopping up onto the table. "There's a lynx with a weapon just outside your door, and we think she's going to try to kill you."

"Because of Alice?"

"Yeah," said Nick, not taking his eyes off the front door and wishing they'd brought live rounds this time. It had seemed extraneous at the time, but _now,_ he wished they had been a little more paranoid. "If you have a phone, please call the station once we've engaged."

"Damn legs," Velvet muttered, but he did wheel himself into the adjoined kitchen. Nick and Judy both hid themselves to give the lynx the element of surprise. 

The knob turned and cracked enough for the lynx - it was Pawlee Jacobs - to peer through it. Evidently, she thought the area was safe, because she pushed the door open quietly and closed it behind her just as quietly. She, evidently, had practice getting into and out of places she shouldn't have been, but that wasn't a surprise. There was a reason she was high in the ranks of Leapyear's operation. She crept forward, slowly enough for Nick to sneak around and get behind her moving just as slowly (and therefore silently). Once he was in position, Judy leaped out and shouted, "Freeze, Jacobs!"

Jacobs did not freeze. Instead, she aimed at Judy's center of mass and shot two bullets into her sternum. Nick watched, horrified, as the bullets thudded and cracked into Judy's chest and lifted her off her feet to land in a heap, but he didn't have time to think about his partner. With a silent snarl, he shot a tranquilizer dart at Jacobs' back. Perhaps knowing that officers worked in pairs, Jacobs ducked before he'd finished pulling the trigger and flipped around to face him. He didn't try to reload; he didn't have enough time for it. Instead, he darted forward and kicked her wrists, forcing the gun from her paws, which he then kicked away while he tried to subdue her.

Jacobs was flexible and her claws were sharper than his, so he ended up with a big slash across his cheek when she used his body to flip herself around to try to get free. It burned as he growled inadvertently. He tugged on her wrists and then let go, forcing her to stumble to keep her balance, so that he could jump and wrap his legs around her torso. It was a bit of a girly move he'd learned from Judy, but it was far more effective than trying to wrestle Jacobs outright; he used momentum and body weight to take her down and jerked hard on her arm to flip her over. Although she struggled, Nick made sure to get his cuffs on her and dragged her to the table, where he used two zip-ties to secure her to the table leg. When she tried to bite him, it only made it easier to make the decision to fit a bite hook over her as well. He barely even shook around muzzling devices anymore, but it was always easier to carry out the task when he was being actively threatened by teeth. She wasn't going anywhere, and more importantly, she wasn't able to warn Leapyear by shouting.

"Carrots," he said under his breath, making his way over to her. He pulled her up gently, looking her over. "C'mon, talk to me."

"Can't - can't breathe," she gasped, and disregarding decorum, he stripped off her shirt to reveal her mangled vest. Good, she hadn't taken hers off either, although the jury was still out on whether or not it had done much good. There was a sizable dent over her heart, and when he took the vest off of her she cried out. Something was broken, possibly a couple of ribs. 

He helped her get her shirt back on, making soothing sounds that meant nothing in the face of her whimpers. He didn't know what kind of gun Jacobs had hit her with, but it wasn't exactly standard-issue. When she was dressed again, he said, "I'm going to sneak out the window and get Leapyear. You rest here and wait for the paramedics."

"No," she said, grabbing his beltloop. "I want to see this. I  _need_ to see Matilda Leapyear in cuffs. Please don't - you can use mine, but I need to  _see."_

"Sure, Sweetheart, you can see. I'll help you to the kitchen so you can watch through the window."

Judy was light enough that he could just carry her to the kitchen. Using a step-stool probably bought for a caretaker, he helped her settle on the kitchen counter so that she could peek through the curtains. Once he was certain that she was safe, he re-loaded his tranq gun and raced to the window they'd come through, listening as Judy called for Velvet and told him it was safe. Getting out was much easier than getting in; Nick could just jump straight into the greenery. He kept his eyes on the car, which was still off, thank goodness, while he circled it widely. He hid behind another car, considering his options, before deciding to just run toward the car. It would take her a moment to turn on the car and begin driving away; he was sure he could work with that.

He ran as fast as he could and slammed into the back door on the driver's side, reaching over to open Leapyear's door as he did so. The rabbit was already moving to turn on the car, so he didn't bother trying to get her to stop beyond his first loud, "Stop and put your paws in the air!"

In an instant, Nick made a decision. It would have been easy - possibly prudent - to dart her where she sat, but he couldn't bear to do that. Instead, he reached around to grip her tightly and pulled her out of the car, snapping on the cuffs neatly. Unlike Jacobs, Leapyear very obviously did not have much in the way of physical training, although she did have quite a bit of muscle. Nick presumed it was from her job; if she worked as a stripper at a club, it was possible she danced on a pole, and that took strength. Nick carried her into the house and secured her to the other table leg, far enough away from Jacobs that they couldn't work together to try to get free. He collected Judy from the kitchen next with the help of Velvet, who looked amused at the whole thing.

"Sorry," said the deer when Nick caught him laughing. "It's just...God, you're all so  _tiny."_

"Really? I had no idea," Nick replied, pretending to be shocked. He carried Judy in his arms, trying not to jostle her at all. "Why didn't my mother ever tell me foxes were smaller than deer!?"

"Oh, hush, Nick," Judy said, reaching up to pet his muzzle, and he quieted, relishing the sensation of Judy's paw in his fur while she recited the Purranda warning to Jacobs and Leapyear. 

All five of them sat in silence for a good while. Nick refused to let go of Judy, who didn't seem to mind being coddled for once. Whether it was because she was truly hurt or because she could sense that he needed the comfort was anyone's guess. Once they heard the sirens in the distance, however, Leapyear's eyes widened and she looked at them, pleading.

"Please, Detectives - I can't go to jail. I  _can't."_

"Pretty sure you can and will," Nick snarked, "as soon as we have a cruiser here."

"No, you don't understand!" Her voice went shrill. "Judy - Judy, you get it. You can't let them cage me. You of all mammals can't let them cage me."

Judy's glare was remarkably cold, and Nick wasn't sure how much of that was because she'd just gotten shot by Leapyear's little friend, but it was enough. "Why? A bunny like you  _belongs_ in a cage."

Leapyear went silent. Judy turned inward and refused to look at anyone until EMS showed up with other cops in tow. No matter what Nick said, he couldn't get her to say anything at all, and when Nick turned away to deal with the initial handling of information, the ambulance left him behind.

 _I'll come by after you get off work,_ she texted him, so he focused on the case and tried not to worry. Judy would do what she needed to do, and they'd talk when she was ready.

 

* * *

The hard evidence against Matilda Leapyear found at the apartment building was damning, but somebody had to get a statement. It  _should_ have fallen to someone with training, but Nick  _knew_ Leapyear. After speaking briefly with an attorney, Wolford handed a folder to Nick and told him to read it, observe Leapyear, and then interview her. 

The Matilda Leapyear in the interview room was not the same Matilda Leapyear from Velvet's house. It wasn't even the same Matilda Leapyear he and Judy had met. The one he knew had cute and mild mannerisms, a sort of blunt charm that had made Judy feel an affinity for her immediately. Even Nick had been fooled. This bunny, however, was rigid in a way that looked unnatural. She tapped her fingers, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, and then kissed the tips of her paws four times before starting over. A ritual? He'd never seen her do one, and it looked entirely forced. It was as if she was mimicking something she'd seen before.

Mimicking Jack, perhaps.

He sighed and pushed open the door, choosing his words carefully. She wouldn't trust what he said, but he needed her to at least consider cooperating. Once he was settled on the oversized chair across the table from her, he said, "You are not the mammal I thought you were."

"Most mammals are different in private from who they are in public," she answered, pressing her paws flat against the table. "Took you long enough to get here. Did you stop to savage another bunny on the way?"

He grinned, feeling vulnerable and angry. It was easy to lash out after that one. "It's funny that you'd use that word, considering your history with it.  _Savage._ Jack Savage. It's not your name, but it's one you're very attached to, isn't it?"

"You know my Jackie died," she said harshly.

"I know that Jacqueline Savage, the ex-Hunter, died. But I also know that you resurrected Jack Savage for your own purposes. Really, though. Heroin? When Jack was an addict? That's the part that seems counterintuitive."

"I never said Jack never partook," she told him carefully. "I was there during the withdrawal stage. Every step of the way. When Jack almost  _died_ from taking something tainted. Have you ever had to call an ambulance for someone you love, not knowing whether they're okay?"

"I just did, in a manner of speaking," he pointed out. "My partner is in the hospital right now, thanks to your little friend Pawlee Jacobs. Fortunately, though, this next part isn't up to me. You're being offered a deal, and because I'm the only officer your size right now, I get to give it to you."

"A  _deal?_ A deal for what, exactly? What do you think I did?"

He frowned at her, unwilling to play. "You've been given a list of potential charges. If you cooperate with us, most of them will probably get dropped. Read that and tell me what you think."

He passed the folder to her. She didn't open it. Instead, she tapped each corner and kissed her finger after every tap.

"You do realize," said Nick, only just able to stop himself from rolling his eyes, "that the so-called 'insanity plea' doesn't work in the majority of cases, right? It's for mammals who literally can't tell the difference between reality and delusion, and even then they are invariably housed in lock-down psych hospitals, not let go. Pretending you have OCD won't save you from prosecution."

"I'm not pretending," she snapped.

She looked miserable. Nick hated her on multiple levels, but now that he was thinking clearly, he couldn't help sympathizing with her, somewhat. Her world was falling down around her, and although she was probably legitimately a terrible mammal, it seemed that she had become one after losing her life partner, who had been an asset for Mr. Big. "It's an affectation, and any trained psychologist will see that. Jack had OCD, not you. Mr. Big killed them, or had them killed. This is all a big love letter to your mate, isn't it? You're getting back at everyone who hurt Jack. The mob boss, the police, the society who believes in sending animals to die for us but not in taking care of them afterward. Everyone who acted against the mammal you loved most...or at least sat back and did nothing."

"Do you have any idea what it's like," she asked, kicking her feet. It seemed that she had given up the game. "I mean you know. You know what it's like to be looked down on, to be denied jobs because of your species. Of course you do. But that's only part of it. We were happy, Jack and me. I was dancing at Lemon Twist and Jack was a young, idealistic soldier, a _hero,_  and we weren't rich but we were happy. The stripper who never had to strip and the sniper who never had to kill. Then the idiots in charge entered into a war that never should have been. They sent my partner to the Crimson Isles and it was never the same. We'd wake up at night and I'd spend an hour or more promising that there weren't any bombs, that we were safe. I always let Jack walk on the outside because it wasn't worth trying to convince them that I could take care of myself. I wanted to leave, to move to the country - maybe Podunk or Meadowbrook - but we had to stay here because it was  _easier to disappear._ I always stubbed my pinkie toe on that damn coffee table in the middle of the night because Jack had to have everything  _just so._ And  _just so_ didn't even make any sense. I always knew Jack had OCD, even though there wasn't a word for it back then, but after they came back it was...the only job they could do anymore was gutting and cleaning  _fish._ And killing, later on. Jack wasn't an _addict;_ the drugs were just a substitute for medication we couldn't afford. That's what I'm asking about. Do you know what it's like to watch the animal you care about more than anything else in the world disappear by inches until all that's left is this gross parody of who they used to be? Knowing that if you could have a better job, if you could get paid just a little more, maybe you could get them help, but too bad, being a fetish is all you're good for."

"No," he said plainly. "I don't know what that's like. And I'm sorry that happened to you, but it's not an excuse for forming your own crime syndicate."

"Nothing is an excuse for that," she agreed, and immediately he was wary. There was something funny in her voice. "That's the rub, isn't it? You're pretending you empathize with me because you think I'll admit to a crime if you do, but I haven't admitted to anything because I haven't done anything wrong. What I went through was terrible. What Jack went through was worse. Those are unconnected to whatever crimes you think I've committed."

"We have enough evidence here for a conviction. We don't need a confession. Your defense lawyer is going to do their best to help you, but they're going to advise you to take the plea deal offered. We can't guarantee anything beyond a reduced sentence...except the satisfaction of knowing that you helped to put known criminals behind bars." He rolled his eyes. "The DA seems to think bunnies aren't capable of running an op this big so well. I'm disinclined to agree, but there you have it. Give up the names of your associates and you could spend less time in jail."

"If I was already going to be in a cage, why would I care how long it will be? Even if, theoretically, I had done anything to deserve it?"

"I don't know. Most mammals do," he told her, trying not to show his irritation. He had no idea why she would be so difficult when she was being given a chance at a little freedom before she died. "Nobody wants to spend their life, as you put it, in a cage."

"It's funny," she said with a twisted smile. "Your partner has some serious issues with internalized speciesism."

"Okay, sure, whatever you want to believe. And back in the universe where we're talking about your crimes, are you denying the deal?"

"No, I'm shelving it until I get a lawyer. I'm not a complete nitwit. I'm just pointing out that Officer Hopps needs to ask herself if she's in law enforcement because she wants to put other animals in cages, or because she still believes she belongs in one," she said. "That's it. That's all. I'm done talking until I get a lawyer."

He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean,  _belongs in one?"_

"D-O-N-E," Leapyear sang. "Thanks. Bye."

Nick clenched his paw, took a deep breath, and let himself out, making sure that Grizzoli was standing by to take her back to the holding cells. He meant to go back to his desk to work on his report, but he was waylaid by Wolford, who rested a heavy paw on his shoulder. "Wilde. A word."

"Sure thing, Lieutenant," Nick said carefully. He didn't think he'd done anything wrong. He wasn't a professional interrogator, like Fangmeyer had been, but he hadn't messed up anything. He'd followed all the rules and gotten her to open up about motive, at least. Wolford led Nick into his office and closed the door behind them, gesturing for Nick to take a seat while he took the one behind his desk.

"Don't let her get to you, Wilde," Wolford told him.

"I wasn't. I didn't."

"No? So you didn't let her little cages comment get under your fur?"

Nick shrugged. "I mean, yeah, I was annoyed a little. She was trying to throw me off guard using Hopps, who wasn't even there to defend herself. But she was only using Hopps' words against her."

He wasn't so sure he believed that, but that was beside the point. Wolford's scowl was...intimidating, to say the least, and that was more important than any beliefs Nick might loosely hold. "What did Hopps say to her?"

"She said  _a bunny like you belongs in a cage._ And then she got really quiet and left with EMS."

"She  _said_ that?" Wolford leaned forward. "Those exact words?"

"Yes...?" Nick met the Lieutenant's eyes with his own scowl. "Why is that such a big deal? I've been doing some research but I can't really find anything outside of questionable academic papers and fertility jokes that aren't all that funny."

"That's because you went to school in Zootopia, I suppose. You learned that the era of food politics was a big interspecies nightmare and after the First Agreements, everyone was happy and all the mammals held hands and sang friendship songs and put flowers in each other's fur. I'm sure you were smart enough to not believe it, but the truth is, that era wasn't a mess; there was an uneasy truce between predators and prey that was often broken on both sides, but still pretty well known. Rabbits and hares were the last to learn the trade tongue - what we speak today - so predators and prey alike assumed they were nonsentient. Okay to eat and trade for protection. Then when they did start speaking our language, other mammals kept them like pets. Like parrots, in cages. It was only when they started building weapons and killing the mammals who invaded their warrens that anyone admitted they were more than food or entertainment. Not that anyone particularly liked that thought, especially predators and the mid-sized prey who used bunnies as currency. So after the First Agreements, all the pet bunnies and the ones raised for meat were dumped at the outskirts of the new cities and told to be grateful they were alive. They took up farming largely because they'd been told for so long that food was the only thing they were good for. Well, food and entertainment. So you can see why, in that context, Hopps' comment was a deliberate jab. I honestly can't believe she'd say that."

Nick could, though. He could believe that Judy would say something hurtful in a moment of weakness. "Maybe she didn't know...?"

"Don't pretend to be dull, Wilde, we both know you're better than that," said Wolford, and then he sat back with consideration in his gaze. "You know, I wanted you in vice, but I wanted you without Hopps, and nobody thought for a second that you'd consider it. So I didn't offer it. You would have been great. You still could be."

"You know my answer. I'm not leaving Hopps on her own in zoicide."

"I'm going to be blunt with you: I don't know how much longer Hopps is going to  _last."_ The Lieutenant blew out a breath. "She's a hell of an officer, but you saw the kind of damage she took today. A single bullet to her vest damaged her chest enough that they considered keeping her overnight for observation. Your partner has two options. She can move to a desk position within the next few years, or she can die on the job. You need to face reality here. Soon enough, one way or another, you're going to be without a partner. You can continue in zoicide and risk her safety by giving her a reason to stay, or you can switch to vice and give her space to consider her next move."

"That's a low blow, LT," Nick said quietly, hiding his anger. Wolford was deliberately playing on Nick's protective tendencies, probably assuming that Nick would be the type to make unilateral decisions. But he wasn't going to be that kind of mammal. "I would never make that decision on a whim, especially not without talking to Hopps first."

"I encourage you to do so. Maybe she'll listen to you. She certainly won't hear anything from me."

Right. Judy and Wolford were something like friends on their off hours. It was possible that Wolford, in his own way, was trying to protect Judy from herself. Nick understood the urge, and the offer was tempting. Nick didn't love zoicide. Following trails of blood and bodies reminded him a lot of running away from Mr. Big. He did love being a detective, though, and as a reasonably attractive but ultimately generic fox, he was probably a good fit for undercover work. A small counterpart to Grizzoli, maybe. And Judy would probably be more receptive to the idea of a desk job if she had to partner with someone four times her size...especially since zoicide was a small department full of mammals who still didn't quite believe that a bunny was a worthy addition to the team. Fangmeyer believed in her, sure, but...

No.  _No._ He wasn't going to be a hypocrite. If they were ever going to have that discussion about her making decisions for him after the tunnelway fiasco, he needed to be honest with her. He couldn't make decisions for her. She was her own mammal. She needed to face the consequences of their career on her own terms.

"I'll talk to Hopps. See what she says," he said noncommittally, but it was with the realization that Wolford didn't dislike him on an animal level; he was just looking out for Judy.

* * *

He smelled Judy before he even opened the door. She didn't come running, but she did wave from the corner of his couch, looking exhausted. Her left arm was strapped to her chest and she was wearing one of his shirts, so it hung loosely around her. He couldn't tell if she had shorts on underneath it, but he could tell that she was in pain; her legs were twitching.

"Hi," she said, sounding something like shy. 

"Hey there." He closed and locked the door. "Want something to eat? Or drink?"

"Water would be good. I need to take more pain medication."

For Judy to admit that was huge. It meant that she had taken serious damage. It was more in her nature to shake it off than to admit that she needed a break. He took two bottles of water out of the fridge and tucked a pre-made sandwich under his arm for good measure. He intended to feed her at least a little bit of it, but he definitely needed to eat. 

"I'm sorry I told them to leave without you. I just needed a little time to collect myself," she said quietly, watching him as he came toward her. He sat down on the floor so that even if she looked down, he'd still be able to see her face. 

"Well, we got her. You were hurt, so we didn't need you to follow after us and I knew you'd talk to me when you could. I got to interrogate her. She didn't admit to anything, but you should watch the video recording. I think our conversation was pretty enlightening."

"Wish I could have been there," she said wistfully.

"Me too, but you did good. And we got her to admit, at least inadvertently, that she doesn't have OCD, so that's good. I mean it can't be used as an excuse in a court of law, but there are those who would insist her actions were just  _compulsions._ You know the type." He looked up and into her eyes. She was already more relaxed than she had been when he'd returned home, so he continued, "You told Leapyear she belonged in a cage. Is that why you needed to collect yourself?"

"...Yeah." She took a large gulp of her water and then took the piece of sandwich that he offered her, but she didn't put it in her mouth; she only flattened it with her fingers. "I never thought I would - I thought I was better than that. I was so  _petty."_

"That's definitely a word for it. Though she called it "internalized speciesism." Usually I don't care what our perps think, but does she have a point?"

"No. God, no, Nick, I'm being serious here when I called myself petty. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted her to be scared, like her victims were scared. It's not like I  _believe_ that bunnies belong in..."

She didn't finish. Nick did. "Cages. That's the thing you didn't want to tell me about before."

"I just didn't want ancient history to inform my choices the way my history with Gideon did. But some part of me was scared of all the terrible stories I grew up with, and I was angry because I didn't  _want_ to be afraid, so I just didn't want to talk or even think about it at all." She laughed, a somewhat self-deprecating sound. "I'm a passionate animal. You've seen the way my feelings can get in the way of linear thinking. One of the things I'm working on with my therapist is being honest with myself. I'm pretty honest with everyone about what I think I think and what I think I feel, but I can only be truly honest with others if I'm honest with myself, too. As you can see, it's a little slow-going. I still get angry every time someone calls me cute, and then I feel dumb for being mad, and then I'm mad about feeling dumb."

"Is that - the cute thing - is that part of the whole...cage issue?" It still made him a little sick to think about it. He very much doubted that his ancestors ever kept hers in cages, but only because his family had migrated to the Zootopia area just a century prior. "Is that why you hate being called dumb?"

"That was the excuse, you know?" Her smile was shaky. "We were so dumb we couldn't defend ourselves. We were so dumb we couldn't speak. We were  _pets_ because we were too cute to resist. So fluffy, so little, so delicate! And the thing is...some bunnies don't mind it. We  _are_ cute by most standards. And in this day and age, it's unlikely that anyone outside the bunny community would remember why it's a slur. I say that only a bunny can call another bunny cute, and  _I_ believe that's true, but out in bunny country, nobody would care. It's important to me because that's the attitude that kept us on the farms in the first place, but I'm not a farmer, I'm a cop."

"I get it," he assured her, and then decided to share something of his own. "You know how foxes don't have the best reputation...the reason is just as stupid. We as a collective tended to be opportunistic. And smart enough to know where the wind was going to blow. Bunnies grow up hearing certain perspectives of the food politics era; I grew up hearing about how  _we won_ that war. We took care of our own and kept our own counsel and of everyone during that time, we had the easiest and hardest time of things. It was easy to switch from mammal meat to fish and poultry, and we could eat as many fruits and vegetables as we wanted, which really pissed off fellow predators, but we couldn't live  _without_ meat at that point, which pissed off the prey. We didn't fit anywhere, and we didn't give anyone a chance to learn to trust us, since we were almost always on the go. Just sort of drifting, especially since we ended up getting kicked out of places we tried to settle in. And even though now foxes have changed enough that we can be mostly vegetarian, that still haunts us. No matter who we try to befriend, there's a sense that we're going to betray them. It doesn't help that we celebrate Robin Hood and Reynard the Trickster - think Compére Lapin, but with a weird hat - our heroes were cunning and tricky and always got what they wanted in the end. I'm not my ancestors and you're not yours, but I get it when you worry about how the actions of mammals who lived thousands of years ago can shape what mammals think of you  _now."_

"I know you get it. How could I not? I see it. I...I believed in it, even though I knew on some level what I was looking at. But it wasn't fair of me to expect  _you_ to know not to call me cute or dumb or a stuffed animal, so I shouldn't have been so rude. Especially lately. I thought you knew, but how could you? It's not like they teach kits here in the city the same stories I was told in Bunnyburrow. I sometimes forget, because you're so smart, that you don't actually know everything. I'm really sorry, Nick. I think I've been a jerk lately, and I don't think it's all because of the problems I've been trying to fix."

"I think that's kind of flattering, if I'm honest." He grinned and took the last bite of his sandwich, watching her roll her piece around. It was gross, so he plucked it from her paw and held it in front of her mouth. As if on instinct, she opened her mouth and ate it, sucking on his fingers as he removed them from her mouth. He bit his lip and shot to his knees, trying not to let the sensation get to him. "U-um, so, I'm guessing that's why you like to be in charge, then."

"Probably." She licked his paw and drew back with a tiny smile. "I get so tired of being seen as  _only_ cute. Nonthreatening little rabbit who can only do her job when she has a bigger predator  _protecting_ her. I grew up on a farm. We had automated equipment more dangerous than most of the mammals in this city, and I grew up operating and fixing it. But I come here and suddenly I'm nothing but what I look like. When I'm in charge, though...they listen to me. Even if they don't like it, they have to do what I say."

 _There_ it was. "That's why you like doing stuff with Kit."

"It's a release for both of us," she admitted with a nod. "She gets to let go and I get to have the control that everyone thinks I'm not good enough to have. But, um...that can be over. If you really don't want me to work with her anymore, I can stop. I don't want to make you feel less than. I've spent my life dealing with this lame public perception problem; I can ignore it if it means I get to keep you. Being with you is important to me."

"Wait, no. Stop just a second. I owe you an apology too," he said. This was as good a time as any to get this conversation out of the way. "And before you say anything, I mean it. I don't want you to wave it off, because it matters."

"Okay," she replied slowly, looking him over. Her nose twitched rapidly. "I won't wave it off. That doesn't mean I won't forgive you if it's forgivable."

He hadn't expected anything less. One of his favorite things about Judy was that, while she was stubborn as hell, she could be talked around. "I didn't trust you for a long time, even though I convinced myself that I did. I fell for you hard, but I can't say that with complete honesty, because there was some part of me that didn't trust you - or maybe didn't trust that you could really feel anything more than contempt for a screw-up like me. It was stupid. You're usually honest with me and I _know_ you value my friendship. You value our partnership. You made it clear from the minute you came back for me and I was too self-involved to believe it. Even if this thing, this romantic thing between us doesn't work out, you won't just leave me behind. But I got scared anyway, because of my own internal issues, and I think I took it out on you by getting jealous and keeping you at a distance. I've told you before that I don't know how to have good, healthy relationships. I'm trying to be better though. I won't be perfect, but I want you to know that if I'm jealous or possessive or dumb about this stuff, it's _my_ problem. Not yours. It's _my_ irrational feelings, not anything you're doing. So yeah. I don't want you to stop seeing Kit unless _you_ want to, and I don't want you to feel like my hangups are your responsibility. The only thing you've done wrong is try to protect me too much. Which we definitely need to talk about, but I needed to apologize before I brought it up. I'm responsible for my feelings, okay?"

She considered him. He waited, kneeling in front of her, trying not to fidget under the weight of her stare. Fidgeting was a sign of dishonesty, and he wasn't lying. Finally, she pulled him forward and buried her face in the headfur between his ears. "We do need to talk about that. I love you, but I don't show it right. I've...been holding back too. But I can't talk to you here, Nick, not when you're _looking_ at me like that and being so sexy on accident. I'll get distracted and you'll let me and I want to get everything out on the table. Can we go somewhere? Somewhere public?"

"There's a tea house and bakery a couple of blocks south of here," he said into her throat. The scent was strong and soothing and she wasn't wrong about him being willing to put off the conversation if it meant more closeness like this. "It's kind of pricey, but it's open all night and they have booths.

"I'll take my pills and we'll walk," she said, and kissed him where she'd been resting her head.

* * *

For a building that looked like it was falling apart and only had a sign with the word TEA written on it, the tea house had a surprisingly cozy interior. The lighting was dim enough to be soothing but not so dim as to make the place feel romantic, and the service was quick; they only had to wait a few minutes before they could take their herbal teas to the corner booth. As soon as they sat down, Nick placed his paw over her free one and watched as the strength came back into her face.

"I should have explained myself a long time ago," she said. "Maybe the day you promised to become my partner. Sometime within the past few years, at any rate. I thought I was protecting you, but I was setting you up to be hurt. I'll understand if you get angry, because frankly I deserve it."

"This already doesn't sound great, but I doubt you deserve anger, Carrots. I know you. I know you try to do the right thing, even if you're not perfect."

"I..." She slumped. "I'm still afraid, Nick. Not _of_ you, but of what could happen _to_ you. I don't want you to be hurt or sad or anything bad ever again. I want you to have a good life full of good things to make up for all the bad things that happened before. I want to give that to you, if I can. You're building something amazing, a legacy, and that's been my new dream for a while: seeing that through. But I think that I go too far sometimes. I _know_ it's not right to take over like I do. To take the blame for everything. I'm not the center of the universe. It's du - silly of me, but I'm not just afraid of you getting hurt. I'm afraid of hurting you, either because of something I do or because I don't do something when I should."

He frowned, not upset, but definitely a little confused. "You wouldn't hurt me, not unless I wanted you to."

"I have before, when I didn't even mean to. My fear hurt you. _I_ hurt you. We can't ignore that."

"Except now I know why. I know about Gideon and I know about the cages. We're both in a better place to use hindsight."

"That's not an _excuse."_ She clicked her tongue in frustration. "The way other mammals think of me should have been an incentive to be better, and I wasn't."

He shrugged. She had a point, but she seemed to have forgotten something important. "I wasn't either. I knew what it was like to be looked down on. Mistreated. I knew what it was like to be told no every day of my life, even by mammals who thought they were doing me a favor. And I was mad at you for not accepting it when I did. I was bitter because a little bunny was so much stronger in the face of adversity. So I goaded you and I hurt you on purpose, and I was too myopic for a long time to see that you deserved an apology as much as I did. We can do this dance all day, I don't deserve you, no, _I_ don't deserve _you,_ or we can move on and promise to be better in the future."

"Yeah...you're right, as usual. Remember what you said earlier, about jealousy not being my problem?" She turned over her paw so that their fingers could interlock. "My ridiculous protectiveness isn't yours. Please feel free to call me on it if I do something rude. And I'll do the same. Part of not hurting you is letting you make your own decisions. You're my partner, not my kit. You deserve better. I'll be better."

"So we'll both be better," he said, "but I think we should make a new rule. No more using the word "deserve" about each other, at least not in a context like this. What we really deserve is a day off with massages and a steam room...and pretty staff members feeding us fruit from gold-trimmed platters."

"Mmf. Nick, you rascal, I thought we came here to we _wouldn't_ get caught up in flirting and foreplay," she replied, allowing her foot to slide up his pant leg.

They shared a smile, and for the first time in a long time, Nick felt like things were finally getting better instead of inching toward something worse. They still had Mr. Big looming over them, and there was the question of what to do about it, but at that moment, there was nothing they could do. Nick still had to bring up Wolford's proposition to Judy, but that wasn't urgent, so he could let it lie. It was better to sit there, enjoying each other and the overpriced tea, for the duration of their little perfect moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for A Quiet Chaos Part II: Oh Shit, It’s Mr. Big!
> 
> Question for my readers: I prefer clinical smut. When it gets too flowery, I start giggling. Is that something readers agree with? Would you rather read smut with the word “penis” or the term “throbbing manhood?” I'm sorry, but like, did someone punch you in the nards? Are you still functional enough to do the scene? Okay, you're now calling it a length – a length of what? Yarn? Plywood? Duct tape? And God, do we really need a million fucking euphemisms for clitoris? Also, am I allowed to say the word vagina or am I required to call it a dripping slit? Must I reference Judy’s nonexistent tits? Can I keep it more or less grounded in terms of size differences and the fact that it’s uncommon to orgasm at the same time, or do people get turned off by reality? Related: am I supposed to cater to male ego by making Judy climax 187 times by penetration only, or am I supposed to validate the common female experience of not often (or ever) achieving climax without clitoral stimulation? I'm so confused. Writing smut is harder than my ex boyfriend’s throbbing length when he caught his ex girlfriend worshiping at the altar of my flowering womanhood.


	10. Devils in All the Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Judy's injury and the Wilde-Hopps duo getting temporarily benched, big things happen. Poor decisions are made. Other decisions are made, some considerably less poor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why does it take me months to finish a single goddamn chapter? I average 7K. That’s not particularly abnormal. So how come I can’t be one of those writers who put out a chapter every 2 days or whatever? I’m a snail. That isn’t going to change.
> 
> It should be noted that earlier this year, when I was in such a low place that I almost packed up and disappeared for good on the loves of my life, the emails from AO3 helped keep me from going off the rails, so to everyone who’s left comments or kudos or whatever, _thank you._ This story may be entirely ridiculous on multiple levels, but I am so grateful for y’all.

All things considered, it was a victory. Captain Fangmeyer smiled at Nick and Judy, a rare thing that made Nick smile back even when he didn’t want to. Lieutenant Wolford patted Nick on the back and winked, as though they were sharing a secret. (They probably were, considering his offer for Nick to join him in vice.) Chief Bogo made a characteristic announcement that _Our officers just closed two cases at once, so we need extra uniforms to handle the compilation. Three guesses who put this extra pain in our tails._

Practically a glowing review. And yet.

There was a heaviness surrounding him that he was certain only Judy would be able to see. The euphoria had worn off – the charm, the closeness, the rush of adrenaline and affection that invariably came after solving a big case, their Sunday filled with cuddles and naps and nothing heavy at all – and all that was left was a vague sense of dread. She was feeling it too, he could tell; it was in the cant of her ears, the way she held herself rigid behind the limitations of her chest binding. They glided through the station avoiding physical contact with each other, avoiding any sort of close proximity with other officers as much as possible. Nick didn’t want to let on that he was spooked. Judy probably had her own, similar reasons.

She had bought them some time, asking Mr. Big if she could solve the Jack Savage case before committing to a place in his operation, but they both had expected it to take much longer. In a way, her injury was a blessing in disguise; they had a few extra days to talk it over. He didn’t want Judy to have to make a deal with the devil – either of them, this Fangworthy fellow _or_ Mr. Big – but he didn’t want to leave the city he loved, either, not when they’d made such a difference.

(Was there a third option they hadn’t considered already?)

They were back at their cubicle, having been ejected from their private office now that the case was more or less solved. There would be a trial, if Leapyear refused to allow her lawyer to negotiate, but Nick and Judy no longer had need of that privacy. It was nice, if Nick was completely honest with himself. He’d missed the lack of interaction that the open desk area provided, even though it made sharing moments with Judy at work nearly impossible. There was no policy against workplace dating, but nobody wanted to listen in on mammals being sickeningly sweet with each other. It was a courtesy rather than a rule.

Monday mornings usually filled the duo with a sort of lopsided optimism, Judy’s gung-ho (and borderline desperate, lately) “make the world a better place” rhetoric overriding Nick’s irritated (and completely justified) “weekends should last for a week” commentary, but this Monday was different. There was an almost primal urge to scream, to throw himself on the mercy of the authorities and leave the problem in more capable and experienced paws, but there was only one outcome in that scenario. Two disgraced officers dead before they could even make good on their plea deal. Mr. Big was too careful to allow something as dangerous as (and here was the unadulterated, sour truth) corrupt officers stay alive in the face of a potential reveal.

“Our other cases are open to us again,” said Judy, trying for chipper. It wasn’t working. There was a funny lilt to her voice, desperation thinly covered by careful cadence. _Clunk._ Nick wondered if anyone else was good enough, or maybe just close enough, to read her as well as he could. Maybe they just assumed that she was trying to make the best of things after being injured on the job. It was what he would have assumed, had he not known her.

He wondered what other mammals read in him.

“Yeah. After Matilda Leapyear, it’ll be a relief to go back to more mundane cases. That case with the missing organs looked pretty tame. No evidence of serial offenses. No drugs, presumably. And no suspects, which usually means no frame job. I approve.”

“...I do too, and that worries me,” she said, but her smile was looking a little more genuine. “I mean what kind of cops are we if a case that might involve a _cannibal_ looks like a fun one?”

“Normal ones.”

She bumped him gently with her elbow. “I will buy lunch for a _month_ if you can manage to get through this without any references to soccer, Sweeney Tod, or Trunkee Lake.”

“Madam,” he said in exaggerated offense, placing his paw over his heart. “I don’t know what kind of mammal you think I am, but that’s just...asking too much. That’s like making all of my favorite foods and then-”

“And then informing you that the dessert wafers are actually made of foxes?”

“Oh, so _you_ can joke?” He grinned. “I’ll have you know, I’m perfectly capable of buying my own food for a month.”

She gestured at him. “I mean, obviously. But what kind of officer would you be if you didn’t even _try?”_

“Average. Spectacularly so. I’m so average I’m a synonym for arithmetic mean.”

“Wilde’s right,” said Francine from across the room. Ah, right, elephant hearing. Brilliant. Maybe he shouldn’t have actively tried to piss her off during the Barkholm case. In his defense, she’d been snickering after he’d gotten pissed _on._ “Aside from that _explosive_ beginning, you two are pretty average. If, you know, possessed of uncommonly good luck.”

“Why thank you, your flattery is the highlight of my day,” Nick told her, tossing a careless salute her way.

“That's me, always aiming to please.”

Judy looked away, suddenly uncomfortable once again. It was so easy to feel that they were alone – especially after the Leapyear case – that she probably had forgotten someone might overhear their inappropriate banter.

“We got some data from the lab kits. Why don't we give it a look,” he suggested, and she eagerly grabbed the folder with rapid bobs of her head. She looked ready to throw up.

Everything was not fine, but it would be. It had to be. He and Judy could do anything if they worked together; they could fix this. Somehow, they would fix this, and they could get back to making terrible jokes and solving crimes while not being terrified of death-by-shrew.

* * *

After a morning of mind-numbing desk duty, Nick wanted to take lunch with Judy, together, but Wolford called him into his office, and when the Lieutenant called, you answered. So he gave Judy a half-shrug and headed to the office, hoping she’d bring something back for him. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to eat lukewarm takeout. Just one of the many joys of police work.

“Shut the door, Wilde,” said Wolford once Nick came through the door. Nick did and stood, stiff-backed, in front of the Lieutenant’s desk. “Hey, no need for that. Sit down.”

Holding in a frown, Nick pulled himself into the chair available. Fortunately, wolves weren’t usually more than fifteen inches taller than foxes, so it wasn’t like trying to talk to Bogo over the desk. “What’s going on, Sir?”

“I want to know if you’ve given any thought to my offer.”

“I’ve thought about it, but I haven’t made a decision,” Nick replied. It was mostly because he hadn’t talked to Judy. “I didn’t get the impression that your offer was time-sensitive. Was I wrong?”

“No, it’s not that. You’re both good officers, you and Hopps. And the last thing I want is to pressure you into a department you’ll hate with a partner you’ll inevitably hate because of the work. I’m sure you’d do fine in that environment, but the ZPD has higher standards than _fine,_ at least here in Precinct 1. Still…”

“You’re really worried about Hopps, aren’t you,” Nick observed, “now that she’s been shot. Kind of hammers the point home. She’s as mortal as anybody.”

“And _you’ve_ proven that you can make quick decisions in the field even when you’re emotionally compromised. With Elena going on maternity leave next month, we’ll be down a body. I’m officially courting you, Wilde.” Wolford took a breath. “Just like Victor Fangworthy is courting Hopps.”

“She’d never leave us,” Nick said confidently, although he didn’t feel it. He was a good liar, but he hated lying to mammals who...trusted him. “The ZPD is her home. She said it was just one job.”

“They’ve been after a bunny for ages, you know. Between you and me, I think Fangworthy might actually jerk off to the idea of a bunny agent. She’ll do that one job, and maybe she’ll come back, but she won’t be the same. _If,_ however, she voluntarily takes a desk position because she’s become aware of her own mortality…”

Except that wouldn’t work, would it? The theory was more or less solid, but Wolford didn’t know what Nick did. Carefully, he asked, “How do you know Fangworthy so well, anyway?”

“We were colleagues. He oversaw the MBI when they did a joint operation with Precinct 1. This was...maybe three years before you joined. He didn’t want me, but he did leave with my partner, the smallest wolf on the force. Never saw Rivers again. Fangworthy likes to use small mammals. They can fit into places that tend to be overlooked by the kind of mammals he hunts.”

Nick thought about the original Jack Savage, and what _hunting_ did to their psyche. It probably wasn’t the same kind of work, but it sounded dangerous enough that he didn’t want Judy to have to go through it. She’d probably do it well, and she’d probably bounce back, but Wolford was right: it wouldn’t be the same. Nick had seen plenty of mammals turn to Mr. Big, desperate for any kind of employment, and get warped along the way just by virtue of working with monsters. It never ended well.

What was that saying, about staring into the abyss? It provided potential enemies ample time to stab you in the back. Or something like that, right? In any case, Nick didn't want to think about it, not with Wolford in the room. Keeping work separated from the absolute cluster-rut that was his dirtiest secret needed to be a priority.

“I don’t want her to get hurt,” he said instead, knowing it wouldn’t be taken as particularly outside of his character. He and Judy had always been protective of each other. The running joke around the station was that one day soon, Wilde and Hopps would fuse together to form a single mammal and they’d have to do a staff shuffle to give Officer Wildehopps a reasonably-sized partner.

“I know you don’t. You have more motivation in your fourth finger to keep Fangworthy away from her than Chief Bogo has in his whole body. _Talk_ to her, Wilde, before she gets swallowed by a system that won’t give her back to you. And get me Hopps’ report by tomorrow noon. You’re dismissed, for now.”

The problem, Nick mused as he made his way back to his workspace, was that Wolford didn’t have the right information. His heart was in the right place, at least in theory, but Judy didn’t have many choices. Nick didn’t blame himself for their predicament, but sometimes he privately agonized anyway. _What if._ If he’d taken her investigation more seriously, if he hadn’t actively tried to _sabotage_ her first case, then they never would have run into Mr. Big’s goons at all. Maybe that was too optimistic. Maybe it had been inevitable. But if they’d finished running the plate of that limousine before closing hours, then maybe Judy would have shown up at the Largo estate with a shiny warrant and authority behind them, as limited as hers had been back then. He’d have had time to _explain_ to her what getting involved with the mob _meant._ And she would have found some other way to deal with Weaselton.

Why had he let that happen? Why had he gone along with that idea? Sure, he’d been glad to have her back after three months of moping and critical self-reflection, but why had he taken leave of his senses? He couldn’t remember feeling desperate to impress her like a foolish kit, but why else would he have ignored the dangers?

 _Guilt,_ he realized with a jolt. He hadn’t understood or recognized it back then, and then they’d never talked about those months she’d been gone. Nick hadn’t felt guilty about anything in _years_ before their falling out, so it had been unfamiliar and discardable in favor of immediate problems. But after those months of hiding under a bridge and thinking about all the ways they could have salvaged their budding friendship if he hadn’t thrown a childish tantrum (like the idiot he wasn’t) and she hadn’t slunk back to a childhood home she didn’t love (like the coward she wasn’t), he’d wanted her to succeed. Plus, there had been a terrorist to contend with, which had drowned out any of the feelings-based background noise.

“Yessir,” Nick said blankly, and left the room.

He waited for Judy to return from lunch, but once an hour had passed, she was still missing. He followed his nose to find her; her scent was everywhere, especially in places where she had absentmindedly marked “her” items, but he knew her well enough to discern old from new. His search led him to the training room and he balked at the sight that greeted him.

Judy had pulled off her sling and her shirt, leaving her in her medical chest binding, and she was going to town on the punching bag. Her breathing was heavy, but she didn’t seem to want to keep herself safe.

“Hopps, what the hell are you _doing,”_ he asked, incredulous.

“I’m exercising. Go away,” she growled, using the little vocal cue he’d taught her long ago meant to warn off other canids.

“It’s cute you think that tone will work on me,” he jeered. If she focused on him maybe she’d stop punching.

She gritted her teeth. “Don’t call me cute.”

“Then don’t _act_ cute.” He smirked meanly. “It’s unbecoming.”

She turned around angrily. “Are you seriously doing this to me right now?”

He seized the opportunity to crack, “Glad you remember I prefer my carrots steamed.”

That did it, finally. She gestured with her good paw. “Okay, Wilde. You and me, right here, right now. If you can’t understand Mammalian, maybe you’ll understand the language of _punching.”_

Normally, Nick was hesitant to tangle in the ring with her, but not today. Any other day, Judy would be taking a spar seriously, but today she was just angry. She probably would have challenged anyone who walked through the door for any reason. It wasn’t necessarily a bad way to blow off steam; the bags were there for more than one reason, after all, and it was _A Thing_ in Precinct 1. Police work was high-risk and, if he was honest, low-reward most of the time. Nick could spot the difference between a real challenge and poor coping skills from a mile away, and there was a clear lack of coping skills in the culture of the precinct. If Judy hadn’t used sparring as stress relief previously, she’d have picked it up from their coworkers regardless.

She was injured, and her whole strategy depended on _not getting caught._ As strong and agile as she was, Nick had over sixty pounds on her, and if he got her turned around, he could overpower her long enough to maneuver her limbs into a nonthreatening position. It was a dirty move that he’d never use in an informal spar. They weren’t in the ring right then, though, and she was going to _hurt_ herself, so he darted in and yanked on her good arm so he could wrap his arms around her torso from behind, effectively restraining her. With some luck, his little improvised restraint – and his right leg stuck between her legs, ankle restricting the movement of her right foot – she’d come down from her little fit of anger without fighting him. She could probably kick his rear even with her broken ribs if it came down to it, but it wouldn’t help her heal physically _or_ emotionally.

“Carrots,” he said directly into her ear, low enough that only mammals in their immediate vicinity (and any elephants in the room) would be able to tell that he was saying anything at all, “give it a rest. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Her answering struggle was halfhearted at best, and she quickly relaxed against his chest. Her shuddering was not the happy kind, but at least she wasn’t working out her troubles with violence that would only hurt her.

When she was finally finished kicking, he lowered his nose to her neck and asked, “Want to tell me what you thought you were going to accomplish?”

She drew deep breaths for a while, leaning into him. He knew that he could let her go, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to. For the moment, in their fortuitous privacy, he wanted to hold her. Finally, she sighed softly and leaned back to look up at him. “I got two phone calls today. I’m sure you can guess who called.”

“Our government contact and our friends in Tundratown,” he guessed.

“Right. And I had to make a decision, and there was some...well, I had a realization that kind of freaked me out, but we should talk about it at home.”

That shot a jolt through Nick. _Home._ She didn’t say _your place_ or _my place;_ she said _home._ He knew her well enough that he could be reasonably sure she felt like home was with him, and that was the kind of relief there were no words for. He’d felt like that for a while, but although Judy wore her heart on her sleeve, she did not wear her thoughts at all.

“Then we’ll talk about it at home,” he promised, petting her head and ears. It was a bit of a dirty trick, but then, she’d just gotten finished hurting herself. “Now will you _please_ put your shirt and sling back on?”

“I hate it,” she confessed. “It’s so restrictive. I feel trapped in my own body. I don’t think I’d be this angry if I weren’t injured.”

Yeah, he could see that. Judy was a focused, dedicated cop, and she hated anything that got in the way of that. But her injury really wasn’t something they could play around with. Broken ribs were dangerous for a lot of reasons, and while it was only a couple of hairline fractures, that was a big deal for a bunny. At least she wasn’t dead.

He decided to go for humor instead and brought up the last time she’d been in a sling (result of an accident in Bunnyburrow so embarrassing she had refused to tell him the details). “I think it’s fetching. Very 2019.”

“Ugh, don’t talk to me about 2019,” she groaned, and he considered that a win.

* * *

Desk duty was going to kill him, and if he were a lesser mammal, he’d want to go and shout at the wretch who’d broken Judy’s ribs. Contrary to their earlier jokes, the potential cannibal case wasn’t quite ready; whoever had done the prep work had done a fantastic job, but there was still the agonizing matter of awaiting lab results. Nick was looking forward to uncomplicated detective work, but it was probably good that everything on their newest case was theoretical, even if the lack of actual detective work was going to grate on Nick and Judy both. She needed time to heal.

Speaking of.

“Sit down, Carrots,” he said, watching her pace from his place on the couch. After a long day full of bland takeout and mentally unsatisfying work, he just wanted to sit and relax. They needed that discussion he’d promised, but that could wait until after they’d settled, surely.

“Can’t. This is too uncomfortable,” she told him, knuckling her sling with a grimace. “I feel like I’m about to explode.”

Just like 2019, then. She’d been on edge during that time, too, and he’d not actually managed to help her calm down at all. Clearly, it was time for a different tactic. “I’ll make you a deal. You take off the sling and I’ll hold you still. Then we both get a little more comfortable.”

She paused, then shrugged. He pretended not to notice her wince. It would be pointless to bring up her earlier recklessness; her body was already punishing her enough, and _I told you so_ was the kind of pettiness that a mammal pushing 40 should have outgrown. “Throw in some extra grooming and you’ve got a deal.”

Judy unbuckled the strap on her sling and slowly moved her arm in small circles. After dropping the sling to the side, she crawled onto his lap and made herself comfortable, straddling his thighs and pressing her face to his chest. He put his arms around her and began petting the back of her head. “I was sort of thinking you’d sit _next_ to me, not _on_ me.”

She lifted her head. “Do you want me to move?”

Did he? Maybe. He was still getting used to this close-contact intimacy. The nervous buzz in his brain was almost nonexistent anymore, but free affection was still new. No, he didn’t want her to move. Street sensibilities didn’t apply to their little bubble, especially not in their own private space. “Nah, you can stay. Just don’t drool on my shirt.”

“I make no promises if you keep doing that to my ears,” she replied, shuddering happily. For the first time in a very long time, he was happy to just _be_ instead of _do._

They were quiet for an uncountable number of minutes. Judy occasionally made little satisfied noises when he brushed over a particularly sensitive spot, and he’d never acknowledge it anywhere else, but he found himself mimicking it subconsciously. When she sighed, he would. It felt good. Everything felt good. That was why he was unusually put out when she pushed off his chest and said, “Okay. Now we need to talk.”

“I suppose we do,” he said reluctantly.

Sounding hopeful, she offered, “I mean, we don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

He sighed and rested his muzzle on her head. It was easier if he didn’t look at her when he had to disappoint her. “Nobody likes bad news, but it’s not productive to ignore it. Or healthy. Or, in our line of work, safe.”

“Ugh.” She gently pushed his head off of hers. “It’s stupid. I see that now.”

“Yeah, the last time you said something was stupid you confessed a childhood trauma, so forgive me if I indulge in skepticism,” he said dryly. “C’mon. If it’s stupid, we’ll laugh about it. If it isn’t, we’ll discuss it. This is you and me, Judy, not us and everybody else.”

She rolled her eyes, but obliged his implied request to just say it. “Paul called first, totally in his role as Mr. Big. I listened to his offer and told him I had broken ribs, but I’d come see him as soon as I was healed. Then – and I’m sure they’ve bugged my phone now, even though I don’t know _how,_ because the timing was too perfect to be a coincidence – I was on the phone with Katie, listening to her offer, and I realized...I know Paul. I know who and what he is, and I know what he wants from me, and he has never hidden the nature of his business from me. But even though I’ve known Katie for years, I don’t know her at all, and I joke with her because I’m scared of her in a way that I’ve never been scared of Paul _or_ Mr. Big. I trust a _crime boss_ over my own government. Why am I working for an organization I don’t trust, Nick? We’re big and slow and maybe we get the job done, but then we have cases like Barkholm, and that was messed up. I thought there was no way our cops could be so cruel and...and _evil._ I thought our precinct was better than that.”

His heart felt like it was pounding as he processed. This line of thinking was dangerous, but he knew exactly how she’d gotten there, and in a way his understanding made it worse. “You have too much faith, Carrots. Police officers have power over citizens. In a position of power there’s always going to be corruption and there’s always going to be someone willing to cover it up. That’s why it’s so important for honest cops to do the work.”

And that _sucked,_ but there it was. Judy had entirely too much optimism, even in her depression, and he understood some of that was deliberate...but being gentle never helped anybody you loved, so he wouldn’t try to soften the blow. Being a cop wasn’t just about protecting and serving; it was a political statement. Every officer spoke to the citizens whenever they chose to stay on through corruption and egregious misbehavior. Nick loved his job, but he didn’t always like it. Mammals didn’t suddenly become incorruptible because they attended training and swore an oath.

(He and Judy were prime examples of that. There was nothing honest about hiding ties to a criminal empire whose head had murdered, blackmailed, and bribed his way to the top.)

“I know. I _know._ I’m trying not to be bitter, but sometimes it makes me want to quit. And then I think _who would I be then?_ Nick Wilde’s girlfriend? What a great identity.”

He snorted in amusement, unable to picture it. There were worse things to be than a police officer’s significant other, but Judy wasn’t the type of mammal to be defined by her relationships. “You’d still be you, but without a badge.”

“The badge is _who I am,_ Nick. I’d just prove them all right, that a bunny is too stupid to hack it in the ZPD, and-”

“So don’t quit. You’d probably just go into PI work, or...I don’t know...become a masked vigilante.” He pictured her in a sleek black bodysuit and domino mask, bleeding out in some back alley, and suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore, but he needed it to be. “Or do. I’m thinking cork leather with steel rivets and chrome plating. We can dye your fur and call you the Black Knight.”

She gave him an unimpressed look. “I don’t-”

“I was going to say we should give you fang implants and paint you blood red, call you the Nightmare-”

_“Nick.”_

“-but I think that’s vaguely speciesist, or at least insensitive, so you’ll have to make do.”

That got a smile out of her, finally. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Whatever you like,” he replied cheekily.

“Kiss you?”

“Go for it.”

She ran her fingers through his neck fur, tracing his carotid. “Bake you into a pie?”

“Whoa, now, what did we say about bad jokes?”

“Throw you in a wood chipper?”

He laughed from his chest. “Is that a thing you want to do? Really?”

“Well, no,” she told him, resting her cheek on his chest, “but you did give me carte blanche. I’m exploring my limits here.”

He rolled his eyes and ran the tips of his claws through the fur on her lower back under her shirt. It was a nice kind of quiet for a moment, until she squirmed in his lap and whispered, “Nick, I was serious about the kissing part.”

“I was too,” he answered. He wasn’t opposed. It wasn’t exactly a turn-on for him like it was for her; he much preferred the little bites to his neck and the shifting scent to pressing their mouths together, but kissing made her happy, and that was the kind of thing that got him right in the chest.

Judy seemed to prefer quick little kisses instead of the languid, wet kind the Nocturnal District liked to portray, and that was just fine with Nick. She quickly abandoned those in favor of nibbling on his lower lip with her long front teeth, and she slid her paws under his shirt to rub his belly where he was sensitive. His whole body shook when she dug her nails in and _squeezed._ It was like fire in his blood vessels, circulating from his heart to his groin. His mouth dropped open and his claws dug into the cushion as she bit down just above his collarbone and rolled her hips, using her powerful legs to push her pelvis into his. It should have been boring, _mechanical,_ but his pants rubbing against him in her rhythm was the perfect amount of friction to coax out his penis. Nick matched her movement, panting right along with her – no, she wasn’t panting, she was wheezing. Her expression was more determination than pleasure, almost as though he was –

No, he wasn’t a mountain she wanted to summit, but that didn’t mean he should ignore the obvious.

“Judy, stop,” he said, putting his paws on her hips and wishing he were a little less adept at reading her. He didn’t want to stop. God, that was the last thing he wanted to do, just after eating his own intestines. He just knew they needed to stop, if for no other reason than that their little dry humping session wasn’t helping her heal.

She made a distressed noise that almost had him going back on his request, but she stilled. Looking dejected, she asked, “What did I do wrong this time?”

“Okay, hold on,” he said, ignoring the echoes in his head. She wasn’t mocking him; he’d never told her the exact words, never gone into the specifics. This was a completely different situation anyway, right? She was agitated and injured. He could empathize with her frustration, but that didn’t make the problem disappear. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I mean, I guess you did make the choice to get physical when it was actively hurting you, but that’s not wrong, it’s just not good for you. To be honest I’m a little more worried about your reason for doing it.”

“Do I need a reason other than that I love you?” She scritched his scruff and he squeezed his eyes shut. He was highly sensitive there, especially during times like these. “You’re always so tense. I just...wanted to make you feel good. And I wanted, you know. I wanted to feel good too.”

“I know,” he told her, petting her ears, “and if you’re really looking for physical satisfaction, I can – uh – go down on you, like the other night. But I think what you’re really looking for is _control,_ and this isn’t the best way to go about it. Talk to me, Judy.”

She pulled away, an almost-there frown passing briefly over her lips. Her eyes dragged up along his torso from his groin to his face and he wondered _why._ Had she always looked at him like this, and if so, had he just been completely blind to it? He was just a regular fox, unremarkable by nature and by design; the only thing that set him apart was that he was _her_ fox. Maybe that _was_ enough to give her the look of a starving thing.

“I...you’re right, as usual,” she said. “I didn’t realize, I swear, but today was rotten and I still feel gross. I’m sorry. It’s not right to assume you’ll just go along with it because _I_ need some kind of relief-”

“I’m not complaining about what you were _doing,”_ he said gently before she could start in on the self-recriminations. “I said you could kiss me, and you can probably feel that I liked it a lot. It’s just that I know the difference between wanting _me_ and wanting something else. Is this about your conversations?”

“You mean the one where I lied to a crime boss or the one where sold my soul?” She snorted and looked away. “They own me for the immediate future. I made the right decision, but I feel slimy all over.”

He reached up to run the tips of his claws through the fur between her ears. “What do they want you to do for them?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“What do you mean, do I want to know?” Nick frowned. “What kind of question is that?”

“It’s…” Judy shrugged and buried her nose in his chest. Her voice was muffled, but not enough for it to be hard to hear when she continued, “Katie told me sometimes the best way to protect the ones you love is to keep them away from the danger.”

“Well, that’s a huge pile of scat,” he told her flatly, and tried not to thrust upward. It was hard.

She shifted, which _did not help._ “Yeah?”

He refused to let some stupid physical distraction get the better of his mind. He was ice. He was smooth. He was an ex-con artist. He was a cop. He was the master of his own body. “Danger is everywhere, Carrots, and for a cop it’s only a matter of time anyway. So you do something dangerous and _don’t_ tell me, and then what? You succeed and I don’t know how to help you recover? You fail and suddenly I’m in _more_ danger, but I don’t know what it is, where it is, or why? You fail and I don’t know how to find you? You succeed and you become someone I don’t know, and I don’t know how you _got_ there? This is right out of the idiot’s playbook. It only ever works in bad spy movies, and I always feel sorry for the girl they play for a fool. She always ends up stuck with someone she used to love, someone she doesn’t know anymore, because for whatever stupid reason the director won’t let her leave him like she should.”

“Look at you, all genre savvy. If we _were_ in a bad spy movie, I’d be the one wringing my paws and ignoring your horrible betrayal.”

He laughed, which was a bad idea, because it jolted him against her. “Little things don't matter. We don't have to tell each other everything we do every second of every day. But we’ve kept things from each other before, to disastrous effect, and the more I think about it…”

“Nick,” she murmured. “Katie gave me orders not to tell you anything, and I’ve already disregarded them because I love you, but if she’s right…”

“We can't keep big secrets, _especially_ now. I promise I won't do that to you. If you ever do that to me, we’re done, no matter how much I love you, and I would expect no less from you if I were ever that stupid and...and...it's a huge sign of disrespect to devalue and underestimate your partner like that.” He shook his head. “We’ve already had that conversation. You and I are a team. Maybe this is something you have to do alone, and that’s okay. I’m not asking you to drag me around. I’m just telling you that partners aren’t convenient accessories. We’re there for each other, no matter what.”

“Even if I have to do something awful?”

He picked up on her tone. This wasn’t really a hypothetical. He squeezed her tighter, wishing this didn’t have to be their reality. _“Especially_ if you have to do something awful.”

He waited in silence and discomfort for her to fess up. Whatever it was, it had to be bad; Judy was almost always decisive. For as long as he’d known her, she decided what was right and what was wrong, and chose to do the right thing according to her conscience. She generally didn’t waver in that, either. So if this was big enough to trip her up, it was going to be huge.

“I’ll be working undercover, reporting to a small team of MBI agents who specialize in organized crime. Victor wants to take down Mr. Big,” she told him finally, pulling away a little to look into his eyes, “and he wants to use me to do it. This one job that I’ve signed on for...even though I’ll probably survive it, there’s no coming back from it. The deal keeps you safe from prosecution and it makes the Big operation go away. But to accomplish that, I’ll have to do some things I promised I’d never do. Things I’ve spent the last few years putting mammals away for.”

“Mr. Big wants you to be an asset,” Nick said quietly as the pieces fell into place. He felt sick and wished it were enough to erase the sensation still radiating through him. “And Fangworthy wants you to do what you’re told and feed them intel.”

“You have to admit it’s the perfect plan.”

“I don’t have to admit anything that stupid,” he snapped.

“But it _is._ Even if we don’t like it.”

“We’re talking about _murder_ here, Carrots. We’re talking about torture or murder or whatever work he wants you to do. It’s going to eat at you until you’re not even _you_ anymore.”

She sighed. “It won’t be exactly like that. I might have to...hurt some mammals. Badly. But I think I can get away with making them disappear instead of killing them. With Katie’s team on my side…”

“Okay, sure, so you kidnap them instead of murder them. So glad to know our _esteemed government_ sanctions false imprisonment. And where does that leave me, when all is said and done?”

“I told you, you’ll be protected.”

“That’s not what I’m _asking,”_ he growled, ignoring the way her nails dug into him at the sound. “Does it matter that I’ll be _protected_ if I lose you anyway? You’re my partner.”

 _Partner._ The word carried connotations that he couldn’t express. She was his best friend, his rock, the love of his life. She was the one he relied on to have his back at work. He cooked for her and she relaxed him and if she disappeared into the job she’d never wanted, he would lose her. What would he have left? He doubted the Hopps family would still be as welcoming to someone who just watched her throw herself away. If he lost Judy, he’d lose his family, too.

She took his face between careful paws and kissed his muzzle between his eyes. It felt wonderful, but it also felt ominous. “You’re a better cop than I am. You always have been. I take action, but you put pieces together. Without you, I’m barely a detective. Without me, _you_ can still be great.”

“But even if that were true, which it isn’t, I should be a part of that choice. You don’t just get to _decide-”_

 _“I_ don’t even get to decide! This is the offer, Nick! Either I do this and we’re both reasonably safe, or we take our chances with the _mercy of the ZPD,_ and you know exactly how that will end. It’s unfair and it’s stupid…” Her voice wobbled and her eyes watered, not enough to be a stream of tears, but enough to give him a taste of salt. “...but I dug my own grave when I asked Paul to threaten Weaselton, and you dug yours when you threw in with me. I’m sorry I can’t do more. I’m sorry my bad choices led us here. I’m sorry that I’m not _better._ But I’ll never be sorry for doing everything I can to make sure you’ll stay safe.”

It felt like a smack in the face because he knew she was right. Nick wasn’t so stupid as to think that they could realistically come out of this without consequences. He just didn’t want Judy to have to shoulder the burden, at least not alone. It wasn’t fair when they’d both had a paw in the corruption that had led them to this place. They could have, and should have, turned on Mr. Big a long time ago, but they’d been so focused on their own happiness, their own careers. And now, Judy was going to have to…

...Wait. That was it, wasn’t it? That had been the plan all along. Mr. Big had never intended for either of them to slip through his fingers; he’d just played the long con. Pretended family was enough to give them a free pass. Big had probably known who Jack Savage was the whole time, and used the ZPD to take out the thorn in his side. He’d set them up, hadn’t he?

“Tell me what they said about Jack Savage,” he said warily, scritching the base of her tail. It was a dirty trick, but he needed her calm so he could be calm. “When they talked in front of you, what words did they use?”

“I was never supposed to hear. Raymond would just turn away and whisper stuff like _it’s Jack Savage again,_ or _Jack Savage got to Lindo_ – oh, darn it, I’m such a cabbage! They wanted me to think Savage was theirs, didn’t they? So that I’d be his in the end.”

“Probably not exactly that. A lot of things would have to fall into place perfectly, tiny little details that could get derailed by any number of unexpected circumstances, which is too risky for a guy with his power and influence. He’s not that dumb. With so many moving parts, I’m not sure he had a specific goal in mind, just a few possibilities. But yeah, I think he set you up. He set _us_ up. One way or another, you would either die or jump into his pocket, and in the meantime you would either help the ZPD catch Leapyear or be forced to kill her. As for me…”

“We would lie,” she said bluntly. Her nails dug in deep and he hated that it felt so good. “We’d lie and you’d be stuck as a reluctant go-between, or we’d miraculously tell the truth and one or both of us would die in jail.”

“Or maybe he was expecting us to run.”

“Run?”

“To disappear. I’m good at that. Or, I know a tiger who’s good at that. No matter what we did, we wouldn’t be liabilities.”

“And I’m sure he knows, through his informants, that Katie’s been courting me.”

Nick smiled, a plan forming as he spoke. If he resigned himself to Victor Fangworthy’s plan, they could clean up everything, even if it meant that he had to help Judy replace some missing pieces of herself afterward. “So take the job in the Bayou, or at least pretend to. Play it up in front of everyone at the ZPD. Be annoyed about it. Be _angry_ about it. And when you come back, furious at the government and jaded enough to quit the force – publicly, but not really – we’ll take him down. Wolford just offered me a place in vice should you ever...become indisposed, so I could still help you from the inside.”

“That’s my Nick,” she said. He couldn’t read her through the shot of euphoria at being so casually called _hers._ “Always the smartest mammal in the room.”

“Not always,” he admitted. Right now his brain was just sort of buzzing.

She shifted again, removing her weight from his groin as she sat closer to his knees. It was both stressful and relieving. Her second finger traced him through his pants as she asked, “Can we still take care of this? I won’t pretend to know much about the male body past the best way to injure it, but I’m pretty sure you’re the opposite of comfortable right now.”

“I – I’ll take care of it myself. In the shower. You’re the one who's injured right now,” he replied, and his voice totally didn’t shake at all. “Plus I don’t want to...we sit on this couch. We nap on it. Think of the upholstery.”

She huffed. “Fine, go shower. But can I at least watch?”

At the thought of Judy watching him, he went pleasantly fuzzy, and he decided it wasn’t _that_ risky. Afterward, he could run a bath. The warm water would help relax her muscles, and it would probably do wonders for his.

...And maybe, if she promised to hold very still, he’d be able to _take care_ of her, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that phone conversation all the way in like chapter 3 or 4 right before the dead prostitute jokes? Yeah. It wasn’t random. In case you’re wondering, the Bayou is a reference to the Rescuers. The Devil’s Bayou was where they kept Penny. You can probably guess at the job Katie and Victor want Judy to do.
> 
> Some housekeeping here:
> 
> My headcanon is that foxes and rabbits have different erogenous zones and turn-ons. Rabbits, having flat faces, would like kissing, where foxes (having long faces) would probably prefer little licks or bites to the neck or other sensitive places. Rabbits would get excited by sounds (like, say, the unzipping of a dress, the unbuckling of a belt, the susurration of fabric; moans, voices) and foxes, probably sights or scents (I’ve chosen scents). I’m also working off the assumption that these animals have evolved lots of human mental/emotional traits, including kinks, paraphilias, phobias, mental illnesses, etc. They have holdover ancestral talents and very few are born with vestigial characteristics such as slit pupils (like humans are sometimes born with vestigial tails), but even they are not ruled by instinct and it’s impolite to acknowledge things you smell/overhear/etc. Diet is mostly cultural as well; ancestral herbivores can eat meat, ancestral carnivores can be vegetarian, but they generally eat what their ancestors did out of tradition. From a traditionalist perspective, Nick being almost entirely vegetarian is a bit like thumbing his nose at his ancestry, and some ancestral carnivores/omnivores might mock him for trying to be prey-like (the same ones who would be disgusted with him for dating a bunny). Judy was a vegetarian growing up, ate tons of protein in the academy (traditionalists would be appalled at her failure to adhere), and went back to being a vegetarian for Nick’s sake when they partnered up. Her guilty pleasure is turkey wraps with tomatoes. She doesn’t eat them around Nick because she doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable. He wouldn’t be uncomfortable. I will never have time to put this in AQC, so. Have a funny extra.
> 
> Stay tuned for some tightrope walking, both figurative and literal, a brawl in an unexpected location, Nick getting the willies from a flirty ocelot, and Judy learning the ins and outs of heartbreak. (Hint: it’s all in the execution.)


	11. Step Right Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our intrepid heroes bait the hook and wrap up an investigation at a weird place. We finally see Katie Castleberry. Nick follows his gut and Judy follows orders. Things that suck can still be useful, so there's that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit icky, but if you’ve gotten through my gross jokes thus far, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Speaking of this chapter, it’s brought to you by Shakira and whoever invented the mojito. It was probably a pirate. Limes for scurvy was a pirate thing, right? Probably should stop writing while intoxicated, but whatever. High functioning alcoholism aside, hope y’all enjoy this, because I’m sick of my own shit.

On Thursday afternoon, Judy’s ribs were healed enough that she couldn’t put off her commitments any longer. Nick was practically buzzing with secondpaw anxiety. Nothing would quell it; not thoughts of the plan, not busy work, not even the mild pain of his own claws in his thighs. They had practiced this, had come at it from more than one angle, but it wouldn’t be easy, and most of it relied on Judy’s acting skills.

(“Skills,” being used fairly loosely. She was the first to admit that she tended to be overly theatrical. They were banking on everyone chalking up any inconsistencies to the “emotionally unstable bunny” stereotype.)

From his seat at their cubicle, Nick heard Judy’s angry voice as she shouted, “You know what, _fine._ Fine! I’ll do your stupid assignment in the Bayou and – nobody can _hear_ me, the _door_ is closed – maybe I wouldn’t be so mad if you didn’t think the best use of my skills was some squishy job down south! I’m getting my paws dirty so you won’t have to; I have the _right_ to be mad!”

There was silence. Nick didn’t know how much of the show Castleberry was actually in on; for that matter, he didn’t know how much of Judy’s anger was real. She wasn’t excited about doing _whatever it was_ they wanted her to do in the Bayou, but if it was just a two- or three-day job, he imagined it was less than pleasant. She _probably_ wouldn’t have to kill anybody. Surely their government, even as corrupt as they tended to be, wouldn’t send anyone out for a summary execution, right? And they wouldn’t discuss it in a place where anyone could overhear. But Judy did have experience taking down terrorists. It wasn’t beyond the scope of possibility that they’d send her out with an elite team for some kind of quick-and-dirty takedown.

Finally, the door opened and Judy slunk out of it, ears flat against the back of her head and paws clenched. Interesting. This was real anger, not the anger they’d practiced. Unless, of course, she was just better under pressure. Nick remembered her scream in the museum during their first case together; even _he_ had been convinced that he’d hurt her somehow, until she’d followed up with her _blood and death_ ridiculousness.

Judy dropped bonelessly into her chair next to him and planted her face on the desk. Nick ignored her in favor of the ocelot who’d followed her out of the “private” room. Her suit was pressed professionally – in fact, it was professionally _made,_ probably by an independent sartor – with amber fastenings that matched her eyes. Judging by the sleek, carefully-placed hems, she had at least one firearm on her. He assumed the ocelot was Katie Castleberry. Odd; for some reason, he’d pictured Castleberry as a wolf this whole time. She jumped up to sit on their desk and said, “C’mon, Jude, remember how much fun we had? Don’t be such a dumb bunny.”

That had Nick’s tail bristling. It was irrational and even a bit shameful, but he didn’t like hearing anybody else call Judy a dumb bunny. The low growl was out of him before he had a chance to stop it, but Castleberry only turned to him and made an expression that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Playcub. “Well, _hello,_ you must be the sainted Nick Wilde. My Judy has nothing but good things to say about you.”

 _“Your_ Judy?” He dug his claws into his thigh again for stability but kept his tone as light as he could make it. “Pretty sure she belongs to herself.”

“Oh, you’re cute.” She patted his cheek condescendingly and looked at Judy. “You didn’t tell me he was cute. No wonder you don’t want to go out into the real world, if you’ve got this tasty little treat to protect at home. Does he do tricks if you feed him?”

“Excuse me,” he asked, unable to believe the words coming out of her mouth.

She leaned in close, biting her lip, and then asked quietly, “Would you do tricks for _me?”_

“That’s enough, Agent Castleberry,” Judy said sharply, standing on her chair. Although she glared daggers at the ocelot, she reached over to gently card her paw through his ruff to pull out the loose fur. He knew enough about bunnies to realize the connotations of public grooming, but he didn’t mind being claimed by Judy if it meant Castleberry would back off. She was...disturbing.

Playing up the scene, Nick closed his eyes and tilted his head, baring his neck to Judy’s paw. It wasn’t something he’d do in public, usually, but this was a special occasion. Castleberry, despite her sensual voice, lighthearted tone, and obvious flirtations, gave him the creeps. The ocelot just snickered, clearly amused by the whole charade. “Sorry, Jude, I couldn’t help myself. He’s just...oh, I could eat him up.”

 _“He_ is sitting right here,” said Judy, now sounding exasperated. “Can you go away now? We have work to do. Real work, that does real good.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Castleberry. Nick opened his eyes as she added, “I’ll be in touch. You leave tomorrow night; don’t miss the plane, or I shall be very cross with you.”

With a careless wave, the ocelot left their desk, hips swaying dramatically as she made her way out of the cubicle zoo. Judy shuddered, but otherwise, didn’t move anything but the paw in his fur. “I’m so sorry, Nick. I didn’t think she’d be so...gross. Usually she’s more professional than that.”

He shrugged and decided that while she was willing to pet him, he might as well enjoy it, and leaned into her touch. “All I know is that next time somebody calls you cute, I’ll deck ‘em. Well, maybe not, but I’ll give them a stern talking-to. You _told_ me it was demeaning, and I believed you...I just didn’t _get it_ until now.”

“Yeah, it’s all fun and games until you’re on the receiving end.” Her paw clenched in his fur before she released him entirely. “Thanks for not making a big deal out of it. She never means anything she says, and she gets off on riling me up. She’s such a brat. But she’s the best, so...anyway, yeah. Thank you. If she weren’t so crucial to – everything, I’d never talk to her at all.”

“At least you’re on the job,” he said, wishing she’d search for loose fur again. It had been nice.

“I’m on the job,” she affirmed, “and after this, I don’t have to worry about owing them.”

Well, that was doublespeak if he’d ever heard it, but at least she was factually correct. Once she came back and pretended to quit, they could move onto phase one of their game. Conning the mob was a bad idea, but it was the only viable one they had that didn’t involve disappearing. They just had to be ready for whatever happened next.

* * *

Friday morning saw him meeting Judy, who’d opted to spend the night alone at her place packing and getting ready, at the scene of an in-progress crime. If their tips were correct – and there had been enough of them to determine that _something_ shady was happening – they could wrap up their possible cannibal case in record time. The whole operation would be low-key and covert; they just had to walk around and blend in until they found the stash of medical-grade coolers, at which point they’d call in for backup and let professional sniffers take care of the problem. Nick, who had hated carnivals since he was a child and had gotten terrorized by a sad clown in the Hall of Mirrors, was not enthused about the turn their potential cannibal case was taking. Then again, they were fairly certain the killer was someone who worked at the pop-up carnival in Happytown, so Nick would get some sorely-needed vindication.

In his old Tommy Bapawma shirt and striped tie, he felt underdressed next to his partner, clad in a suit similar to the one Castleberry had worn the day before, but she was just overdressed for the venue. Upon arrival, Judy gave him a coffee she’d bought from the local hipster spot, A Shot of Love. Nick tended to avoid it like he avoided strip clubs and, well, _carnivals,_ but their beans were great, and they always got his order right: sixteen ounces of coffee in a twenty-ounce cup, the empty space filled with cream and three teaspoons of sugar. It always made Judy gag, but Nick needed his sweets in the morning. She could stick with her black as death half-caf and kill her tastebuds if she wanted. He was going to live the high life until he got too fat to work or developed diabetes, whichever happened first.

“You’re a saint,” he told her, sipping from the top despite the heat. He’d been up all night worrying and it was having an effect on his overall morning mood.

“That’s me, Saint Jude,” she replied, sounding as tired as he was. “Patron saint of...something. Fru-Fru would know. They’re all weird about their religion.”

“Hopeless cases,” he offered with a grin, “and lost causes.”

She gave him a look he could easily interpret as _are you kidding me?_ He explained, “I was a High Priest once. Got my qualifications online. Did you know it isn’t illegal to lead a ritual, _or_ a marriage, in deference to the God of the North, as long as you’ve taken two classes?”

“I thought only females could be High Priests.”

“Ugh. Don’t go traditionalist on me now,” Nick replied, pretending to be disgusted. “Besides, I wasn’t Nick Wilde at the time. And if I might say so, Marthe Whitetail looks _fabulous_ in ceremonial gowns.”

Judy’s eyes grew wide for a moment as she considered him. Suddenly, she didn’t look so tired, she looked...kind of hungry. “You wore dresses?”

“Come on, Finnick wore elephant jammies. What makes you think I _wouldn’t_ wear a dress for a buck or two?”

“Pics or it didn’t happen,” she said fervently, and then moved on, pulling out her wallet. “C’mon, Nick, we need to ride all the rides!”

“We’re here to solve a murder,” he grumbled, but nevertheless, he took the roll of tickets she gave him and made a mental note to dig out his green ceremonial gown. If Judy wanted a picture, he’d have to do her one better.

The duo meandered through the aisles, largely ignoring the vendors and carnival games. Judy knew – possibly from prior experience – that the games were mostly rigged, and Nick knew – definitely from prior experience – that the food was only edible because it was coated with flour and deep-fried. Instead of engaging the stalls, they kept their eyes peeled for any hint of shady activity. Nick saw it everywhere. Judy just beamed, like carnivals were actually fun. She was twisted enough to love them.

“Let’s go on the furris wheel,” she said, nudging him and pointing to the giant death contraption in the distance. It wasn’t sized for megafauna, but it was sized for tigers and below. Nick could easily see himself slipping out of the seat, or getting trapped inside of it as the wheel broke down, or any number of gruesome death scenes. But from a tactical standpoint...they could keep an eye out fairly easily, between their eyesight and Judy’s ears, and they could also talk privately, as long as they kept it down.

“All right,” he sighed, and wished he were anywhere but a carnival. A trap from one of the _Jigpaw_ movies, perhaps? That sounded much more pleasant.

Judy gave ten tickets to the jaguar on the platform. Her upside-down name tag read “Athena” and she looked supremely bored as she barely even bothered to tell them to have a nice ride. Nick held on for dear life as the ride shakily began to move. To distract himself from the terror, he made conversation. “I counted _six_ mammals stealing. Six, Carrots. If we weren’t supposed to be undercover, which, might I add, is _not_ your forte today, I would have had to stop that raccoon from picking that cow’s pocket. Places like these are deranged.”

“You’re just mad because you never got to be a carny,” she teased, slipping her paw into his. “You’d have been bad at it. Mostly it includes being really nice to and cleaning up after jerks who don’t know how to throw away their trash, unless you get a cushy gig as an acrobat.”

“Don’t tell me you worked a carnival.”

“I had to make money somehow, didn’t I? It wasn’t like working on the farm paid anything, and nobody gives scholarships to bunnies. I got summer jobs as soon as anybody would hire me, and the only ones who would hire a kit were the summer carnivals that came through Bunnyburrow. I joined the gymnastics team in high school so that I could be an acrobat, but for some reason they never came back, so…” She shrugged. “I was sixteen by then, so I got jobs running coffee at Bunnyburrow Press and took dictation for the only lawyer in town. Mom let me work during the school year, too, as long as I could get straight A’s and help around the farm before school. I think she thought it would make me quit. _As if.”_

“You’ve...always been driven, haven’t you,” he asked, squeezing her paw. Her work history was so _different_ from his, but in a lot of ways, they were more similar than anyone on the outside might think. Lately, Judy was the picture of free information. Was this a side effect of her improved mental health, or did she just feel safe with him? He hoped it was the former, because if it were the latter, that meant she _hadn’t_ felt safe until now, and he liked to think they were better than that.

“I guess,” she answered, unaware of his slightly morose train of thought. Her perky tone, thankfully, drew him out of it before he could dramatize it any further. “It was that or not go to college. Mom and Dad couldn’t afford to send me; everything we make back on my family’s farm goes back into the business or goes to food and childcare. And student loans only go so far when you have to pay for rent and food and all that.”

“But look at you now.”

She smiled softly at him. “Look at _us_ now. We’re on top of the world, not because of what we’ve been _given,_ but because of who we _are._ Being Nick Wilde is something to be proud of. I look at you every day, and I just...I love you so much. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I do.”

He wanted to say so much more, wanted to echo her sentiment, wanted to explain that she was his hero, but the words wouldn’t come. It was hard to say things when they had emotions attached to them. Fortunately, Judy wasn’t the type to expect him to reciprocate. She loved him regardless of how he felt or what he could say, and that was a far sight better than anyone else he’d ever dated.

He found himself blurting, “I could spend the rest of my life with you and never get tired of it.”

The furris wheel, apparently deciding this would be the perfect time to ruin a moment, jerked to a halt. Their carriage swung to and fro at the very top. Judy’s delighted laughter was like cold water against his fur; how could she be so damn _sweet_ and then so...not terrified by a near-death experience? She threw her arms around him and said, “This is perfect! We’re _really_ on top of the world, and now I know you feel the same, and...oh, that’s so disgusting, I’m gonna _barf_ after this. I think I found our cannibal, but apparently he’s Mrs. Fluffett.”

Despite his fear of falling out of their rust bucket, Nick leaned forward to see who she was pointing to. It was a vendor – another fox, because _of course it was,_ he couldn’t catch a break – who was selling deep fried turkey on a stick. But that cooler full of turkey...it was medical grade with a strip of red and yellow tape down the back and a blue heart sticker on the lid, an exact match for the two discarded coolers they had in evidence, and there were too many satisfied customers to justify the low price at an event like this. Unless they’d gotten the meat in a less expensive way, such as _killing mammals and taking the good bits,_ they couldn’t be making a profit.

Was the fox in on the scam, or was he just an unwitting shill? They’d have to find out.

“Clawhauser, I’m pretty sure we’re going to need uniforms and medics,” said Judy into her phone while Nick stared in disbelief. “Happytown Carnival. I don’t know if who we saw was our perp, but he’s definitely involved. Send...just everyone we’ve got. Clawh – hello? Dammit, I got cut off.”

As the wheel made its way down to the bottom again, jerking to a stop as more customers entered their own carriages, Nick kept his eye on the tod selling deep fried “turkey.” It was horrible to think that they’d been _selling_ mammal meat. What kind of disturbing did an animal have to be to kill someone, or several someones as the case may have been, and get rid of the spoils by feeding carnivalgoers? He wanted to shout at everyone to stay away from the vendor, but his voice wasn’t that loud. Oh God, how many mammals had unknowingly _eaten_ mammal flesh?

He swallowed the lump in his throat and prepared himself to run as soon as they touched down. On the plus side, the sudden adrenaline made him forget about the danger of the wheel. As soon as the bored jaguar opened their carriage bar, he and Judy were off like a shot, ignoring her halfhearted shout at them not to run on the fairgrounds. Calling up a mental screenshot of the carnival layout he’d seen from on high, he led Judy to the vendor’s booth.

“Wait, stop,” she said, and – wheezing slightly – she shouted at passersby, “Don’t eat the turkey! Or anything else! We’re...investigating...uh, poison! Throw away any food you bought! Could be nothing, but don’t take the chance! Tell everybody you see!”

Fortunately, everybody did as instructed, but it meant a moment of chaos in which every mammal in the vicinity lost their collective minds and dropped whatever they were eating, including ice cream, candy floss, candied fruits and nuts, and anything else they’d bought. It wasn’t _quite_ a panic, but it was enough to make Nick reach for Judy’s paw so they wouldn’t get separated in their attempt to escape a trampling. They were easily the smallest mammals in the area. Hoping desperately that the frightened mammals would spread the word quickly, they took off again, heading for the stall.

The white-furred tod (apparently named Oliver if his paw-written name tag was to be believed) deep-frying the meat looked as bored as the jaguar from the furris wheel, and Nick thought briefly that carnivals were probably soul-sucking for everyone who wasn’t immune to it (like Judy). He discarded the stray thought in favor of lurking shiftily near the stall. As a medium-sized mammal, he wasn’t exactly _intimidating,_ but fox stereotypes could be useful in exactly one type of situation, and this was it. The best way to get mammals to back off was to look as shifty as possible.

Judy planted herself right in the center of the stall’s lower counter. It was the perfect height for a fox to use, so only the top of her face and her ears were visible, but there was no way that the vendor could ignore the determined obstruction to his business. Looking between the two officers, Oliver asked, “Can I _help_ you?”

“Yes, you can,” said Judy.

Nick, knowing what her stern voice meant, felt sorry for whoever was about to get in the way of her investigation. Oliver, unaware of this, didn’t look impressed. “You want a turkey stick?”

“No. I’m Detective Hopps and this is my partner, Detective Wilde. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to put up whatever sign you have that says your supply is gone. Then you’re going to point out the mammal who sold you this meat,” said Judy, not exactly jumping over the barrier, but getting ready enough that she _could_ if he tried to run.

Oliver, for his part, seemed one part annoyed and two parts weirded out. He looked at Nick, who shrugged and looked pointedly at Judy. Oliver rolled his eyes and said, “Look, I don’t even know if he sticks around, okay? I got this turkey legally. It isn’t my business if he’s selling it underpriced.”

“You think this is real turkey?” Nick wasn’t surprised, but he understood why Judy would pretend to be. It would hit the point home better. “Oliver, _Oliver._ This isn’t turkey.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s _lizard,”_ said Oliver, curling his lip.

Nick shook his head solemnly. “Buddy, have you ever seen Soylent Green?”

The fox got a funny look on his face and then slammed the cooler shut. Nick pulled Judy out of the way by the sleeve of her jacket just in time for the fox to get sick right on the counter. Obviously panicked, Oliver said, “I s-swear, I didn’t know! I thought...sweet Abagnale, I _thought_ it was just...everyone stop eating! _Stop eating!”_

A few carnivalgoers looked at him funny, but otherwise continued on. Concerned, Judy asked, “Are there more vendors here who bought from your supplier?”

“I doubt it, but _still!_ What if...we can’t just let them...what kind of sick freak would...okay, he’s a spotted hyena with big black eyes and a funny accent. His ears are rounder than normal and he’s got a short neck. I guess he’s got...normal markings on his muzzle? You don’t really see a lot of hyenas in the city, so...but he got me with a sob story about being _outsiders,_ you know, and I just figured he liquidated his own livestock. Happens all the time when farms go under.”

“Not in Bunnyburrow,” she retorted, but it lacked heat. “Do you have this guy’s contact information?”

“Kind of. I have a phone number, but I don’t know if it’s _his_ number.”

“Okay. Um.”

“Call him,” said Nick, saving Judy from looking stymied in front of a citizen. “Tell him you’ve run out of meat, and you need more. Can you do that?”

“I. Oh. I,” said Oliver unhelpfully. Nick could _see_ him fading behind his eyes, and he was relatively certain that this fox wasn’t part of the plot. What the plot _was,_ Nick couldn’t possibly guess. What was the point? What could anyone possibly get out of this? It was _sick._ Too sick to be entirely for profit.

Judy took a deep breath and said, very sweetly, “Honey, I need you to focus, okay? This is your chance to help us catch a very bad mammal. You’re gonna be a hero, I promise, you just need to stay with us. Can you do that?”

“Hundreds of innocent mammals are counting on us, buddy. You, me, and my partner,” Nick told the poor tod, helping him sit on the cooler. If he went into shock, he’d be useless. “No pressure, though. We’re going to do all the work. We just need you to make the call. Hopps, check on our backup. And get as many medics as you can.”

“On it,” she replied, and as Nick focused on Oliver, she said into her phone, “Clawhauser, how far out is our backup? Yeah, got cut off and we had to run. We were probably wrong about the killer hiding out here; I’m pretty sure he’s _selling_ here. No, I’m not kidding, get everybody we can spare down here! Yeah, of course we could be wrong – you want to risk it? I sure don’t! _Thank you._ Wilde, closest uniforms are Porcino and Gepherd; two minutes out, and others can get here within fifteen.”

“Look at me, Ollie,” Nick said, rubbing small circles on Oliver’s back. The other fox did so, albeit sluggishly. “If you can’t make the call, that’s fine, we can get a mimic to do it, but for that, we have to wait for at least fifteen minutes.”

“N-no, I can do it.” The fox fumbled with his phone as he drew it out of his pocket. Nick wanted to give him a nice shot or three of honey whiskey, but the problem with that plan was that he didn’t have any on paw. And it was probably unprofessional. And not medically sound. Oliver scrolled down his list of contacts and clicked on “Hyena.” Typical. Not unexpected, though. Sketchy suppliers tended to enjoy relative anonymity, which Nick knew because he’d been a sketchy supplier once upon a time. Suddenly, Oliver straightened and put on a strained grin. Huh, a fellow actor. Surprise, _surprise._ “Hey, it’s Peludo. These are selling like crazy today. You got any more turkey for me? Yeah, I got the cash, just like every other time you’ve asked.”

Nick rolled his eyes. That was typical, too. He wished other mammals could live as foxes for a few days. Just so that they could be belittled and inconvenienced at every turn. It probably wouldn’t change anything socially, but it would be satisfying to watch. What was it Judy called it? Schadenfreude?

“Uh-huh, another cooler ought to do me for the rest of the day. Well, I can’t very well leave my stall, can I? Someone would probably steal my deep fryer. All right, I’ll see you in thirty.”

As Oliver ended his call, Nick lamented, “This was supposed to be a quiet undercover op, and here we are, dressed as a stupid tourist and a secret agent, about to  pounce on a sick flesh dealer. When I get my paws on Fangmeyer, I’m gonna give them the strongly-worded letter I’ve already composed in my head.”

Oliver’s laughter was stilted, but Nick considered that a win. In reality, he wouldn’t do any such thing. Nobody had seen this coming. Their several anonymous tips had stated that the meat was being stored at the carnival, presumably for cover until it could be moved somewhere else. Considering the fact that the tips had been staggered so that each one would be received during a different shift and they’d all come from payphones or blocked numbers, Nick was willing to bet they’d all come from the same mammal. In fact...in light of this new information, he was willing to bet that the anonymous tipper had been the supplier himself, which answered some questions and gave them _so many more._ Why would a criminal tattle on himself but otherwise not get involved? Why would he sell the meat to feed innocent mammals who just wanted to have a good time? Was it a plan to sow confusion while he did something else far more nefarious? Was it the beginning of an act of terror?

Or...was it much simpler than that?

“I don’t like this,” Judy worried, playing with the tips of her ears.

“Me neither,” Nick said under his breath.

“Same,” Oliver commented. At least he was on board, although Nick was a little worried about the knife-edge smile across his muzzle. He’d need to be seen by a medic as soon as possible. Interestingly, at least for someone who quite probably was on the border of shock, he added, “Maybe we should stop everyone else from selling food. Who knows how many others he’s sold to. But I guess the candy floss is all right. It’s impossible to put mammal parts into that, right? Please say I’m right. I ate candy floss today. Right before I…”

 _Ah._ That would explain the vomit, then.

“None of this is your fault,” Judy soothed, reaching out to pat his shoulder, and then seeming to think better of it. “If anyone’s to blame, other than your supplier, it’s us. I’m sorry, Oliver, we should have caught this sooner.”

That seemed to lift the floodgates. The fox practically threw himself on Judy, who took the weight with remarkable grace and barely any pained flinching. As he trembled, she patted his shoulder with her comically-small paw and said, “Let it out, honey, it’s okay. We’ll fix it, I promise. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Was it just him, or was her accent showing far more than it was supposed to? She was totally playing it up. Of course she’d fall back on bunny stereotypes in this time of crisis. They’d been doing it all week in preparation for their big hustle. But she didn’t have to hustle a _victim._

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” said Oliver, composing himself. “I just...I _sold…_ I didn’t get any snot on you, did I?”

“Of course not,” she replied, covertly wiping her paw on the towel by the register. And life was officially unfair, surprising absolutely no one. Every time _Nick_ got cried on, which was more often than he’d expected when he’d taken the job, his outfit took damage.

Porcino and Gepherd approached, looking decidedly out of place in their street blues and accidentally looming over the three smaller mammals. A plaid-clad zebra tugged his daughter’s hoof to get her out of the area and the milk toss booth was suddenly closed with no warning. Nick rolled his eyes again and imagined them rolling out of his head. Maybe someone would eat them. Gruffly, Gepherd asked, “What’s the situation here?”

The good news was that Gepherd was a sheep and Porcino was a boar, and therefore both had a fairly good sense of smell. While it was probable that they wouldn’t smell the difference between turkey and mammal flesh – though his ancestors had eaten plenty of types of meat, Nick could only tell that it _wasn’t_ turkey, but not what it actually was – it was worth a shot. “Do me a favor and sniff around in this cooler. Tell me what you smell.”

Judy and Nick held Oliver steady as Gepherd flipped open the lid. Porcino sniffed much more hesitantly and curled his lip once he did. Gepherd, on the other hand, only stared at it intensely once she’d gotten a whiff and asked, “What, _exactly,_ is this supposed to be?”

“Turkey,” Nick replied.

“Yeah, no. No turkey smells like that. Trust me, I know, I worked at a turkey farm.”

Judy, Nick, Oliver, and Porcino stared at her. She shifted uncomfortably. “Hey, work is work. Gotta pay the bills somehow. Anyway, if you two clowns are working this case, I’m guessing this isn’t any kind of meat you’d get at a packing plant.”

“That’s what we suspect,” said Judy. “Oliver here’s been very helpful in getting us information on our perp, if it is what we’re thinking. He’s on his way now, but he’s about twenty-five minutes out, give or take a few. Our extra uniforms should arrive before he does.”

“And you’re _sure_ this guy isn’t involved?”

Judy huffed. “He’s as involved in a plot to feed mammal flesh to innocent animals as _I_ am, and you know I don’t eat meat on Fridays.”

Well, nobody had ever claimed that Judy was the greatest at delivery. To think, she’d been so _sweet_ and _naive_ when they’d first met. Porcino gave Judy a reasonable amount of side-eye and Gepherd snorted. Nick didn’t know whether to be amused or feel a little bad for expecting the opposite. Oliver just trembled a bit more, obviously unused to zoicide humor. To be fair, most mammals weren’t used to zoicide humor. The only difference between it and outright gallows humor was the butt of the joke, and in zoicide humor, the butt of the joke was (commonly) already dead, or about to be.

...That was probably bad form. They really needed to include an appropriate humor how-to class in the ZPA.

“Carrots, we had a talk about scaring civilians,” he said into Oliver’s ear. “You’re a detective, not a horror movie villain. I’m sorry your Nocturnal District dreams didn’t work out, but give it a rest already.”

That got a startled laugh out of everyone, including the victim. Damn, but Nick was racking up points. At this rate, he was going to win the grand prize of jack scat, considering his points were all mental and nobody else was competing. Now that he thought of it, he was probably just as affected as Oliver by the whole situation. He felt a little like he was on autopilot, with his brain stretching thin. There was nothing to laugh about, but somehow, everything was funny. He was gonna need a day off after this.

Oh, yeah. Several days off. On a beach somewhere, with as much cloudberry vodka as possible and enough privacy for Judy to feel comfortable wearing nothing but some sunglasses and a smile.

* * *

Fortune had smiled upon them once again. The rest of their backup had had the sense to take off their uniforms, or at least take off their top shirts, and the only obvious cruisers were lined up with the rest of park security so they wouldn’t look out of place. With ten extra sets of paws, it seemed as though the operation would be smooth sailing. By the time a spotted hyena showed up, carrying a medical-grade cooler with red and white tape down the back and a blue heart on the cover, Nick only felt _slightly_ like a ghost stepping outside of himself and mostly just felt like himself again. He and Judy, who’d shed her coat and blouse in favor of a white undershirt that showed off her shapely shoulders, pretended to be interested in the candy floss while Oliver tapped his foot, acting irritable. Their backup was mostly hidden in the narrow spaces between attractions, pretending to be busy or distracted.

It wouldn’t have fooled Nick for a second, but whatever the hyena’s game was, he didn’t seem too bright. Either that, or he wanted to get caught. Either way, the setup was fine for catching him.

“I’ve brought your turkey,” he said. His voice was deep, with an accent Nick couldn’t place. It was probably regional, but it could have simply been an affectation; there was no way to know until they figured out who he was.

“Thanks, pal, you’re a real life saver,” said Oliver, and then he had to go and do something stupid. Pointing at Nick and Judy, he added, “I’ve been getting angry looks from those two for forty minutes.”

The hyena made a sound that chilled Nick from nose to tail-tip and growled, “Do you even _know_ what you’ve _done?_ I’m gonna _kill –”_

And then he ran.

Nick couldn’t really blame Oliver for the mistake. Assuming he’d tattled on himself, the hyena knew enough about the ZPD to know when shifts changed; he’d certainly recognize Hopps and Wilde, who’d made headlines a few times (mostly because a fox and rabbit pair was still good press). Oliver hadn’t recognized them because he, presumably, was like most other mammals in the city, and didn’t much care for police unless they stopped and/or harassed him.

Nick, Judy, and Porcino stayed with Oliver just in case he’d been fooling them all (and to guard the mammal meat so that nobody would make off with what they _thought_ was free turkey), and the rest of the lurking officers shot off after the supplier. But the hyena, despite apparently being an idiot, was not _entirely_ without tricks; Nick saw him slip a couple of bills to a drunk tiger, who punched an equally drunk lion. The tiger stumbled into a gazelle, and, well. Normally, it was a treat to see a real-life brawl in action, but the ensuing chaos served to slow down the officers significantly.

He exchanged a look with his partner. On the one paw, she hadn’t been given medical permission to chase after a dangerous perp. On the other paw, they were smaller – and therefore faster and less likely to cause harm – than the other officers, and while the nine uniforms were dealing with drunken brawlers swinging at each other, the target was getting away.

Was it worth the danger? Yes, yes it was. Judy would decide that regardless of whether or not Nick agreed (and for once, he did agree with putting her health in danger), and it was his job to have his partner’s back through the good times and the bad.

“Porcino, stay here with Oliver,” Judy said, and took a hard left between the stalls to try to cut off the hyena’s route. Nick followed his nose, watching Judy’s ears. Between the two of them, they were unlikely to lose him even in this crowd, especially since hyenas were uncommon in Zootopia. Their perp was probably the only one currently in the Happytown area.

To Nick’s chagrin, the next time they saw the hyena, he was jumping over the barrier to the megafauna-sized Roar-A-Coaster, which thundered by him so fast it made his fur fluff up and his mane tangle in itself. By the time Nick and Judy caught up, the coaster was running by again. The breeze almost lifted Judy off her feet, and Nick had to hold onto both her and the barrier just to not get knocked over. This place was _not safe._

He couldn’t even enjoy the vindication, because they were _still_ chasing the piece of scat.

They quickly gained their bearings and followed the hyena into – oh, _no –_ the Hall of Mirrors. Nick was facing all _kinds_ of demons, and he couldn’t even stop to take stock of the situation. The flustered gatekeeper shouted, “Hey! You can’t go in without paying! You can’t _run! Stop!”_

“ZPD, coming through! I will _animally_ pay for any damages, but we’re trying to catch a killer here,” Judy exclaimed, nose a-twitch, throwing all of her extra tickets at the poor deer. “So _move it!_ Please and thank you.”

The mirror maze was dark. Although they charged in, they immediately had to slow; Nick could hear the wheezing of both his partner and the hyena, who seemed to have stopped for a moment. He saw himself multiply and shook off visions of a pygmy hippopotamus, frowning through full clown makeup, looming up behind eight-year-old Nick (and twenty-eight-year-old Ruth) Wilde. He wasn’t there. Nick was a grown adult and this wasn’t the same carnival. It wasn’t even in the same part of Zootopia. Mirrors weren’t scary. He had one at home. And he had his partner here, his fearless partner who would probably punch a clown if it were menacing them. Yeah. He could totally do this.

Judy was frowning, turning her head this way and that. The acoustics in the tent were probably messed up by the mirrors, and the hyena’s scent wouldn’t be enough to guide them through the maze. The hyena reflected in all of the mirrors, but he wasn’t near them – or at least, Nick didn’t think he was. Finally, Judy stomped her foot, pushed off the other, and kicked the closest mirror so hard it cracked and fell to pieces.

“Holy cannoli, Hopps,” Nick said as she did the same thing to another mirror. The small-scale destruction served to break up the careful chain of reflection and give them a better line of sight, but she was going to be in trouble later. Oh, well, at least the maze was significantly less creepy.

The hyena took off again and Nick and Judy followed, knocking down mirrors as they went to help them navigate better. By the time their target left the tent on the other end, they were closer than ever. He immediately ran into another tent, this one slowly filling up with spectators. It had trapeze equipment set up in the center and a long wire strung from one end to the other, oddly low to the ground – as though they had yet to hoist it properly. The hyena ducked under it and ran on all fours. Nick broke right to head him off at the back, but Judy hopped right onto the wire, took a few steps, jumped up to the trapeze, and _swung herself onto the hyena’s back._ Because of course she did. Nobody ever accused Judy of doing anything halfway.

The perp collapsed under her fantastic diving crossbody to the confused applause of the few spectators who’d taken their seats early. Nick whipped out his cuffs and made sure that the hyena’s left wrist was cuffed to his right ankle, just so that he couldn’t attempt to run again. Judy’s wheezing was alarming and frankly, Nick was sick of this whole ridiculous chase. While Judy recited the hyena’s rights, Nick used the radio he’d taken from Gepherd and said, “This is Wilde and Hopps. We’ve got the perp cuffed in...a tent. There’s a trapeze and a tightrope in here. Someone _please_ come and rescue us.”

Judy slumped into his chest and he didn’t make a big deal of it. He carefully did _not_ pet her ears or put his arm around her, although he did try to make himself as comfortable a pillow as possible. After all, his very professional partner’s ribs were not fully healed, and probably wouldn’t be for a few more weeks.

(He hoped the job in the Bayou didn’t involve any shooting.)

Presently, Yolanda Spottson and her partner, Evelyn Pooch, entered the tent and got the hyena cuffed properly. Pooch once again recited his Purranda rights while Nick helped Judy out of the tent. They leaned against a fence meant to be hip-high to megafauna and watched the spectacle along with everyone else.

“Promise me you’ll stay with me always if we get through the next few weeks alive,” she said, somehow gleeful despite her injuries. Her ears were limp against her back and her fur was so ruffled she looked flat, but she was beautiful anyway.

“Like you could ever get rid of me,” he returned. Tradition called for a wedding, and he was supposed to ask her mother’s permission if they didn’t intend to live on the farm, but he knew Judy placed too much value on the individual to demean her by treating her as her mother’s property. They might not even get married, but Nick was in it for life. That much was solid.

“Ugh, get a room,” said the hyena as Yolanda Spottson practically dragged him past them, but nobody else cared, so Nick didn’t care either. He was going to spend the rest of his life with his partner, for _real,_ and anybody who objected could go rut themselves.

* * *

As it turned out, Nick’s hunch about the hyena’s motives had been right. They still didn’t know his name or where he came from, but that information would come; in the meantime, the piece of trash had talked freely about his plan. It all came down to power, as almost everything did. He was sick and twisted, but his plan to turn the carnivalgoers into cannibals was nothing more than the murdery version of creeps who ejaculated into bottles of shampoo (or worse, the rice pudding) at parties.

Nick was glad to be rid of him. It was Fangmeyer’s job to break him now; Nick just had to stand by and turn in a report that didn’t use the terms “murdery,” “creep,” or “ejaculate.” It was a difficult task, but he’d manage it somehow.

Mammals like the hyena made Nick feel great about himself. Whatever he’d done in his youth, it was never as bad as _this._

“I’ve got to catch a plane,” Judy murmured to him, passing him a folder. “Proofread this for me, will you? It’s important.”

“Sure.” He frowned at the folder. Something told him it wasn’t quite as simple as proofreading. He opened it to see a loose sheet of paper covering her typed report.

_Nick,_

_Katie said some things that hinted at being able to hear us talk at my place, so I’m writing this by paw here at the station. I have no idea how far their reach goes and I’m not enthused about finding out the hard way._

_This job is supposed to be easy. I’m just working with the MBI to bring in a mammal my size suspected of terrorist leanings. They’re really cracking down after the M.h. crisis here in Zootopia, and they’re finally classifying domestic terrorists as actual terrorists rather than loners or disturbed individuals. Right now they don’t have anyone small enough to take a good shot if things go south, so I won’t even be part of the arrest; I just have to stand by in case of catastrophe._

_While I’m gone, please go out and get two pay-as-you-go cell phones. Texting only. Pay with cash. You keep one for yourself and I’ll keep the other. Until I find out if or how they’re monitoring me, we can text back and forth about the stuff I’m not supposed to be telling you. I don’t want to leave you behind._

_Love,_

_Judy_

“Bye, Nick,” Judy called as she walked away from their desk. “I’ll be back in a few days! Don’t burn down the station while I’m gone!”

“You know I won’t be able to help it,” he replied, and remembered how sneaky she’d been when they first met. He didn’t have to worry about her, right? She could take care of herself. She always managed to land on her feet. Usually. Almost always.

Oh, who was he kidding? He was going to fret the whole time.

* * *

Nick had been issued a temporary assignment while Judy was “on vacation,” and it was a welcome surprise. Bogo had animally asked him to train a newbie while Stella Nightspot, a jaguar on the beat, was out sick. It seemed a little demeaning...and it would have been, in another situation, but the trainee was a _fox._ Nick had known of Ruby Harfang just starting at Precinct Three, but apparently, her graduating class had also had a tod in it.

Unlike Ruby, and Nick himself, the newbie at Precinct 1 – James Furris – was a gray fox, larger than Nick with wicked claws and a friendly smile. If he remembered correctly, ancient grays were the only ones who had been able to escape predation by climbing trees. Furris’ build seemed excessive even for a beat cop fresh out of the academy, but at least he wouldn’t fall behind in a foot chase. Irrationally, Nick was proud of him. After working with James for three days, Nick was sure he’d do fine. It wasn’t like Nick had had a direct paw in his training, but James had said that Nick was inspiring to foxes.

It was _amazing._ Nick wasn’t just striving to build a legacy anymore; he’d _built_ one.

On Monday night, Judy limped into his apartment, ears dripping down her back and eyes heavy. He set aside his book and shot to his feet from his place on the couch, rushing to meet her. She dropped her pack next to his couch – her arm was in a sling again – and fell into his waiting arms.

“I hate them,” she said into his chest.

His heart sank. “Who?”

“Katie. Victor. _Everyone._ I’m not even pretending. I really do hate them. I wish I were _dead._ No, I wish _they_ were dead. Then maybe I wouldn’t have had to…”

Nick tasted salt and felt her shake, but she didn’t sob. This was the kind of crying that was too big for sound, but Nick heard it in her chattering teeth anyway. He sank to his knees and pulled her close, hating everybody right along with her. Just for a few minutes. Just long enough to draw strength from anger. He took deep, steady breaths, knowing that she would subconsciously try to match them, and once she did, he said, “We’ll get through this. Whatever happened...we’ll get through it. Together.”

But he knew what had happened. It wasn’t hard to guess. And although it was horribly difficult for Judy right  _now,_ it was great for their plan. When she went to Mr. Big, she wouldn’t have to fake the disenfranchised heartbreak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that wraps up the last zoicide case they’ll ever take in this story. I, personally, find it gross and hilarious in equal parts. Tbh I mostly hear “The Merry-Go-Round Broke Down” during the chase scene, because I’m that kind of über-classy lady. This brand of humor gives me life. And now for some housekeeping you shouldn’t read if you don’t want a glimpse into Jay’s cranky head. There is no information relevant to the story here, only drunken social commentary.
> 
> I have a huge fucking problem with the tradition of asking a woman’s parents (read: father) for permission to marry her. She’s a fucking adult, capable of making her own decisions. It’s demeaning and infantilizing and no human is another human’s property. Gtfoh with that bullshtick. No matter what story I’m writing, I will _never_ make that a Judy/Nick thing, although the tradition does exist within my headcanon. Judy, who bucks tradition, strives to be seen as her own mammal, and is fondly exasperated with her parents, would probably feel like I do. Nick probably wouldn’t care either way, as long as whatever he did had a positive effect on the state of affairs. My bunnies are matriarchal (in accordance with RL domestic rabbit observations), but the tradition itself is heinous any way you slice it so it doesn’t matter who you’re supposed to ask and who does the asking. Is it too much to expect for a marital partner to respect the person they want to marry? I mean fuck marriage in general, but really, now. I say if you want to solidify end-of-life stuff and take advantage of shared health insurance and whatever meager tax benefits that come along with marriage, at least have the decency not to turn them into an object for you to fucking purchase. Okay? If a fucking dominatrix can see partners as real people, anyone can. Fuck. I need another mojito.


	12. Upward Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Judy take their first steps in their plan and are mildly surprised at the lack of backlash. Nick has a revelation. Work goes on for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to you I wasn’t planning to have any more sexy scenes in this, but I’ve resolved to keep drinking until finals are over tomorrow (or maybe forever; my country is going to shit and people are fucking applauding), and drunk Jay likes writing porn. It’s not intercourse, though, and there’s a lot more story than that!!! For this chapter I recommend listening to RHCP’s Californication album, because I just looped it the whole time. Also because it’s fucking great. The Peppers are fucking great. You’ll thank me for the spirit lift.
> 
> This might be the chapter where I lose you, but if you’ve been reading this far and you know my policy on Nick torture, you probably saw where this was going back in earlier chapters. I firmly believe that if you force your characters to stagnate for the sake of story, then the story wasn’t very good to begin with.

Nick was solid beside Judy when she went to meet with the Chief. There was no way they would do this except together, even if it meant Nick might get in mild trouble for insubordination; Judy could complain about safety all she liked, but it was a two-way street. He wasn’t a pretty flower she needed to protect, and if he’d ever inadvertently treated her that way, he regretted it on principle.

“Hopps,” said Bogo primly, laying his phone face-down on his desk. Nick was willing to bet money that he’d been perusing Gazelle’s website. “Wilde. What a pleasure to see you when you’re not in trouble.”

Judy faked a laugh and looked away as Nick turned to stone, prompting Bogo to narrow his eyes. Before he could demand an explanation, Judy said, “Funny you should say that, Chief Bogo. For the past few days I’ve been working with Victor Fangworthy…”

“I am aware,” he replied with distaste. “I was strong-armed into signing off on your leave for that little _excursion.”_

“Right. Of course. Well, uh. I – I told you that I’m friends with Francesca Largo, right? She’s registered as a CI.”

“Where are you _going_ with this, Hopps? I don’t like to have my time wasted.”

Nick didn’t mention Gazelle, and for once it was easy to keep his mouth shut. He was far more interested in the little detail of Fru-Fru being registered as a CI. Had that been Mr. Big’s doing? It was a sensible safeguard, especially if Fru-Fru gave out a couple of tips that didn’t implicate him in anything. Could it be used to their advantage? Probably not – in fact, Nick was sure it was in place to ensure Judy’s cooperation with the Largos rather than to protect her from allegations of corruption – but it was a good bit of information.

“Sorry, Chief. Well, Vic – Director Fangworthy decided I’m in the perfect position to help the MBI take down the Big operation. I know technically he’s supposed to belong to our major crimes division, but his outfit has officially crossed region borders. They violently threatened someone in my hometown and a lot of their illegal items are apparently imported from Arcadia.”

Nick fought not to laugh at her amusing embellishment of the Bunnyburrow incident. Her ex-boyfriend had come sniffing around making comments about breeding being a requirement for happiness (and the untrustworthiness of foxes), Judy had complained to Fru-Fru about the incident, and a week later, Peter had gotten a casual visit from Raymond. The thing about Arcadia was probably true, though. Mr. Big mostly dealt in smuggling, illegal arms, protection rackets in small mammal areas, and unpleasant tasks that needed doing. And, of course, scaring annoying exes half to death.

“So you’re the poor sap they’ve tapped to be our go-between?”

“I...no. I’m supposed to take a different role. But in order to get a real “in,” I need to look like I’m no longer an officer of the ZPD. We know he has informants here; I need to find out who.”

Bogo blinked twice. His expression soured. He looked menacing just sitting there. “I know the kinds of things that happen in undercover ops. That was my job, until they demoted me to the glorified bureaucrat I am today. If you take this job, you won’t come back. Not as the Hopps we know.”

“I know,” she said sadly, “but after seeing the things he’s supposedly doing... _has_ done...if I can get proof of his crimes, and those of our corrupt officers, isn’t it worth the sacrifice? I talked with Agent Castleberry, and...major crimes doesn’t know the half of it. They need me. The _city_ needs this to be done, and Fangworthy says I’m the best mammal for the job.”

Bogo considered her for a long moment. Nick felt the fur on the back of his neck bristle while they waited for his response, which was, “And what if I refuse your request for what amounts to indefinite leave?”

“Then I’ll quit and deal with whatever legal fallout occurs,” she replied firmly. Her bluff was so convincing Nick almost couldn’t tell she was terrified of the possibility. “There probably won’t be much aside from the black spot on my official paperwork, but even that doesn’t matter. I took an oath to serve and protect. I want to make the world a better place. Right now our citizens aren’t safe with Paul Largo out of prison, and protecting _them_ is my number one priority.”

Bogo looked impassive as he turned on Nick. “And you? Will you skip out on us too, Wilde?”

“Hey,” he answered with an easy smile, putting his paws up. “I took the same oath, and I’m of more use here. Hopps decided that it was important her partner know why she was leaving, but that’s the extent of my involvement. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Even if I fire Hopps right here and now?”

 _“Especially_ if you do. But you’re not going to. That course of action would draw the attention of IA and MR, and only Hopps would be protected from the fallout, but it would be at the expense of her cover. It’s much easier to give her an extended unpaid medical leave, citing her injuries and her obvious _lack of concern_ for her health. She’ll fight with you publicly and the others will extrapolate as we need them to, but on paper, between us, it’ll all be clear.”

“You’re not wrong. I’m not happy about being threatened or blackmailed by my own officers, but in the technical sense you’ve done neither.” Bogo drew a breath and faced Judy. “I generally can’t trust anyone who’s in bed with Paul Largo, no matter how tangentially, so thank you for being honest. Your MBI superiors already came to me, Hopps, but you did exactly as we all hoped you would and asked for permission rather than simply becoming a double agent. I will lose your medical leave form for a while. You’ve got two months. After that, it turns into a suspension without pay, and I won’t have any sway if someone decides you’re worth investigating. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And _you,_ Wilde. You’ll report to Lieutenant Wolford going forward. As of now, you and Hopps are no longer partners. You’re not even in the same department. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Now _get out._ I’m tired of looking at you.”

Nick and Judy scurried out of Bogo’s office. Just before they closed the door, Judy turned around and shouted, “If I hadn’t been _lied to,_ I wouldn’t be _leaving,_ would I? Serve and protect, my scut... _shoot and oppress_ is more like it!”

“Come on, Hopps,” Nick said gruffly, taking her by the arm and pulling the door closed. The ZPD had changed quite a bit during the time between his adolescence and the day Judy had happened upon him in the ice cream café, but it still stung rather more than it should have, especially after the Barkholm case. Mayor Lionheart’s first term in office had been dedicated to decreasing violent crime, and he’d started by thoroughly investigating every single officer and releasing those who weren’t fit to carry the badge. It had pissed off a _lot_ of mammals, and after the Night Howler abductions, Nick wasn’t sure he’d actually gone through legal channels. But without that titanic crackdown on internal corruption, Nick would never have been able to make it in the ZPD. Even now, nine years after the final investigations had wrapped up, the ZPD was struggling to make up for the lost numbers. The screening process was harsh and rigorous, the training had been intensified...the MII had, in part, been implemented as a desperate measure to get more numbers.

(And still, somehow, Big had informants. That was probably more terrifying than the ice pit.)

Judy couldn’t possibly know that _shoot and oppress_ was what the police really had done before the first time Zootopia had “roared for four,” but Nick couldn’t find it within himself to be amused at her performance. He suspected Bogo, at least, was snickering at his desk behind his monitor so he couldn’t be caught expressing any emotion other than apathy or rage.

“Hopps, wait,” called Clawhauser, sounding distraught. “You’re not really quitting again...are you?”

They’d gathered sufficient attention. If Big’s informant wasn’t in the vicinity, they’d hear about it anyway. Judy stood as tall as she could (which was not very) and replied, “The last time I gave up my badge, I didn’t believe I had acted with enough integrity to merit being called an officer. Right now...I don’t believe our government even knows the meaning of the word. You all at Precinct 1 are amazing mammals, and if you keep acting the way you do, then maybe...but I can’t trick myself. Not after what I saw. I’m sorry, Ben, but you won’t see me for a while. I’ll text you when I’m not so upset.”

And she slid away from them, walking forcefully out the door. Judy had the kind of presence that made other mammals move out of the way; usually, small mammals didn’t ever accomplish that unless they actively practiced. Like in the mirror. She really was something.

“Oh em _goodness,_ Wilde, what happened?” Clawhauser’s frown was unusually serious.

“I...don’t know for sure,” Nick replied, shrugging. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t exactly the truth either. “But I can hazard a guess. Anyone who was here last Thursday knows that some creepy ocelot with the Justice Department, Katie Castleberry, came in to recruit Hopps for – and I’m quoting what we all heard, here – a squishy job down south. Hopps and I are each other’s emergency contact and we spend about ninety percent of our time together, but she wasn’t even allowed to tell _me_ the details. I like to think our government is above summary executions, but whatever it was, it made her angry enough to yell at the Chief.”

“Huh,” said Pooch, gazing at him thoughtfully. “But you’re still staying, right? We can’t afford to lose you too.”

“Just because _she_ got her heart broken doesn’t mean every good cop should quit en masse. Mammals like Frank Barkholm and the other six officers involved can’t be allowed to infiltrate our ranks. She believes in me – in _us –_ to do the job the way it should be done, or she would have asked me to follow, right? Serve and protect, like we swore to do. It’s more important now than it was before. If _we_ don’t do the right thing, who will?”

“That’s the spirit,” said Gepherd with cheer, and across the lobby, Nick saw James Furris give him a thumbs up. Nick was struck with the overwhelming realization that his coworkers didn’t just accept him because he was Judy’s partner; they accepted him because he was a good cop. _He was a good cop._ He had spent so long assuming public opinion that he hadn’t ever taken their approval at face value...but Hopps was gone, and they were still here.

There would always be speciesist individuals who were dangerous to him, but then there were mammals like Gepherd and Pooch and Wolford who believed in him, and maybe he wasn’t the cleanest officer in the world, but he’d done well for himself...and once Mr. Big was out of the picture, he could be the kind of cop he wanted to be. Brave. Honest. Loyal. Trustworthy. No tricks, no scams, just Nick Wilde doing the right thing for the right reasons.

* * *

Vice, as Nick found out quickly, was incredibly different to zoicide. Where zoicide was a small, elite department made of larger mammals who didn’t quite trust each other, the other vice officers were welcoming. Grizzoli clapped him on the back – even the gentlest touch sent Nick forward – and Partridge gave him a pastry immediately for seemingly no reason at all. Nick would miss Captain Fangmeyer’s blunt criticisms and paws-off approach, but although every vice detective was paw-selected by Lieutenant Wolford, it didn’t feel like an elite team. It felt like a pack.

The Lieutenant himself was surveying the scene with a vague smile across his muzzle, a much warmer expression than Nick had ever seen him wear. Wolford seemed, if not amused, then at least entertained by the morning shenanigans of his officers. The sheer _energy_ of the place was a bit overwhelming, but Nick could see himself coming to like it.

In retrospect, the somberness of zoicide had probably contributed to Judy’s decline. He hadn’t noticed, because it had affected him too.

“Okay, playtime’s over,” said Wolford, and the room quieted immediately. Nick hadn’t noticed when they were still on the beat together, that first year Nick had been a cop, but he could hold a room. When Wolford spoke in his capacity as a leader, Nick wanted to listen. That was probably why Judy and Wolford had gotten along outside of work.

The pastry was goddamn _delicious._

“As you all know, Elena is about to take maternity leave. Now that Hopps has so abruptly left us, Wilde is our next body.”

The snickers made Nick aware that it was some kind of in-joke. He couldn’t wait to find out what it was. Most of his in-jokes were with Judy. Sometimes it felt like their whole world had narrowed to the two of them, which was...fine right now, but probably not very healthy long-term. Nick had never been a long-term thinker; rather, he’d been most concerned with the what-by-when model of short-term planning. Always preferring the short game to the long con. It was a survival technique that was, at this point of his life, no longer required.

At least he had someone telling him what to do. Regardless of his particular function of brilliance – and he _was_ brilliant, even if it sometimes felt like he was a complete idiot – he knew his limitations.

“We’ve got a new case, as it happens. A little girl came into the station looking for her mother, who was – and I quote – “taken by the bad mammals from yesterday.” After a long and...tiring interview, we managed to determine that her mother was most likely abducted by the same traffickers we’ve been trying to follow, and she’s now on her own. You all know what _that_ means.”

“Not it,” said all of the officers immediately. Nick blinked, confused.

Wolford smiled widely. “Well, Wilde, thank you so much for volunteering. With more officers on staff, normally we’d have a specific department for this sort of thing, but you know how it is. I’ll take you down to look over the file and meet the girl, and _you_ get to do the interview with the CPS advocate. Congratulations, new guy.”

“Thanks, LT,” Nick said through gritted teeth. He had to talk to a _strange child._ He had to talk to _CPS._ Honestly, he wasn’t sure which was worse. He’d never known how to talk to children, and frankly, most parents hadn’t wanted him within ten feet of their precious little fuzzballs, but on the other paw, he’d seen what happened to kits who went into the system even temporarily. He hoped the advocate would find some living family somewhere. “It’s such an _honor.”_

“Everyone else, aside from Davis and Rufflich, you know your assignments. Davis, Rufflich, you’ll start this investigation. _Quietly._ Grab Wilde once he’s done with the brat squad.”

“Sir,” said everyone who wasn’t saying some kind of variant. Nick mouthed it through a false smile that showed far more teeth than it usually did. Considering that about 80% of vice was canid, nobody cared.

He followed after Wolford with a neutral look on his face. It wasn’t that he disliked children, necessarily; he hadn’t concretely thought about them much one way or another, aside from the time they had unexpectedly been required to save their server’s daughter. Nick had always assumed that he would never have any of his own – his lack of interest in sex and skittishness about relationships having hindered him pre-Judy, and the fact that a fox and rabbit couldn’t reproduce taking that off the table entirely – and he wasn’t upset about it, but that meant he’d never bothered to cultivate those skills.

It was a bit worrying. Zoicide had prepared him to deal with dead kits, but living ones were weird and smelly and... _oh,_ so adorable.

The red panda cub was cuddling her own tail, wearing a several-times-re-hemmed blue dress thrown over a white blouse that looked more gray than anything. A lace wristband had the name “Beth” stitched into it. Nick had never tried to age red pandas before, but he estimated her age about about eight or nine.

He swallowed and edged into the room. Hopefully she wouldn’t start crying. He hated the sound of crying children. “Hey there.”

“H-hi,” she said shyly, hiding behind the tip of her tail.

“My name’s Nick,” said Nick, and tried not to jump when the door swung open. An irritable-looking wolf in a green skirt suit hurried over to stand behind the girl, hovering with an interesting combination of annoyance and distrust. Nick had no idea if it was about his species or his profession. Probably both. He continued on valiantly, blocking out the false niceties being exchanged by Wolford and the new wolf, Vanessa Appleton. “Is your name Beth?”

The girl’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“I’m a detective,” he said, and pointed to her cuff. “And also it’s written right there on your wrist.”

“You can’t just leave the fate of a little girl to a _fox,”_ Appleton hissed to Wolford, whose hackles rose.

“Granny called me Lizzie, but I like Beth better,” Beth confided, showing off the bracelet. It looked like someone had crocheted it for her, rather than true lace, but it was sturdy enough that a child wouldn’t know the difference. “She gave it to me before she went to the sky village.”

Thank all the improbable gods in all the improbable heavens for the extensive cultural sensitivity portion of the ZPA, or he would have had no idea what she was talking about. There weren’t many who still followed any of the old ways, but apparently this girl’s family did. Brilliant. At least it wasn’t as bad as it had been in zoicide, where everyone’s conversation focused on death and its effects.

“When was that,” he asked.

“I was five years and three months old.”

“You dare question the integrity of one of my paw-picked officers,” Wolford growled behind him. It was nice to know his superiors would go to bat for him.

“Do you know Ms. Appleton, Beth,” Nick asked, mostly to distract her from the furious whispers. Did they really have to do that in front of the cub? She’d already lost her mother. Honestly.

“She sometimes tells Mama she should give me away. I bit her last time.” Beth’s entire countenance changed to something Nick recognized from his own time as a youthful troublemaker. “Then I told her I was defending my den, just like she said Mama ought to do.”

It wasn’t surprising that Beth had already met someone from CPS. Mammal traffickers usually targeted the poor and troubled. It was easier to get away with taking someone without influence; less mammals would miss them, and the ones who did usually didn’t have enough voice to kick an investigation in the rear. Half the time everybody just assumed the abductee had run off or overdosed in an alley somewhere. For whatever reason, the presence of a child made more animals take notice, but Nick had no illusions: if it hadn’t tied into a case they were already working, this would have gone into the SEP pile.

“That was a solid plan, but maybe try not to bite anybody in the future,” he advised. Leaning in conspiratorially, he added, “Grownups are really just babies wearing suits. If you bite them, they’ll throw fits.”

“But aren’t you a grownup?”

“Of course. That’s how I know so much about them.”

Beth giggled and kicked her feet. “Miss Appleton is weird and dumb, but you’re gonna find Mama, right?”

He was supposed to reassure her. He was supposed to make her feel completely secure. But Nick, for all his experience with the con, couldn’t bring himself to outright lie to someone who was depending on him. “I’m going to try as hard as I can.”

“-you’ll like it,” Wolford finished with a huff. “Or would you like to explain to our superiors why you refuse to cooperate with the ZPD in an important mammal trafficking case?”

Appleton looked like she’d been force-fed pure lemon juice. It was a beautiful expression.

In Nick’s experience, CPS was a toxic waste dump. The majority of cases were either mishandled or overdriven, and their approach to helping victims of child abuse prep for questioning was to ask them degrading questions with no warning. More than once, he had seen a child change their statement under the assumption that even their own advocate didn’t believe them, and it was better to live with the abuse than to make it worse with the truth. Judy, fierce believer in justice that she was, _hated_ CPS, and Nick wasn’t far behind.

“I don’t like traffic,” Beth told the room primly. “It makes Mama hold my paw tight and she gets scared. Like a _baby.”_

“Right on, Beth. See this cub? She knows what’s what. We ought to take a lesson from her and focus on what’s important,” Nick replied, amused at Wolford’s and Appleton’s expressions.

So maybe talking to the girl wasn’t _that_ terrible. After all, with some training and encouragement, she would make a great little troll.

* * *

Per the plan, Judy loaded her three boxes of belongings into Bucky or Pronk’s surprisingly junky car, locked her door one more time, and turned in her key for good. It was easier to just move in together; having gone over Nick’s apartment carefully and laid down passive traps, they would be able to tell if anyone came in to plant any kind of monitoring devices, and they’d be able to swap notes under the guise of Judy’s decision to “study to go back to school.” There were very few subjects that Nick couldn’t pretend to be an expert in for a short time, so it would make sense for him to help her cram.

It was a dangerous game, for both of them. They had to keep the plan loose enough to deviate when it was necessary, but tight enough to _work._ Fortunately, their sudden cohabitation could be easily explained by Judy’s sudden loss of employment. Nick had no idea why Pronk had called him, though; Judy didn’t need help moving out.

“...course I was scared, I was chasing a killer through a creepy maze,” Judy was telling a male raccoon and his two young cubs as they accompanied her out of the building. “But I think where everybody else got a fight or flight response, I got a fight or freeze response, and the meter usually lands on fight. Nick was totally cool the whole time though. I don’t think he was scared at all. I felt better after I broke some mirrors and we caught the guy, though, so it turned out okay.”

The raccoon laughed quietly and stuffed his paws into his pockets. “I’m gonna miss you, Judy. The cubs, too. They adore you. We all felt a little safer knowing we had a real cop in the building.”

“I know. I’ll miss you too,” she replied, giving him a brief hug. “I didn’t mean to leave our little family so fast, but scat happens.”

“Well. You know. If you ever need anything…”

“I’ll let you know. And you keep that in mind too, all right?”

Nick watched with interest as Judy said goodbye to the rest of the neighbors who’d followed her out. Seeing for himself why she’d been reluctant to leave her crappy hole in the wall gave him a different perspective. He’d worried that she didn’t trust him completely, or that she didn’t expect their relationship to last. He’d even, in his darker moments, entertained the thought that she was only with him to be nice, even though he knew that was stupid. But this looked like Judy was giving up a family once again.

(How did she manage to be _so beautiful_ all the time?)

“Oh, Nick! I didn’t expect you to be here. Everyone, this is Nick Wilde, my partner.”

“But Mama Hopps, I thought you weren’t a pleese officer anymore,” said a very young raccoon, tugging at her pant leg.

Nick grinned, delighted, and mouthed _Mama Hopps_ at her. She shot him a dirty look before smiling sweetly at the cub. “I’m not. Nick’s still my partner. That’s what you call somebody you love when you both decide to be together.”

“What about boyfriend and girlfriend, though?”

She waved her left paw in a grand gesture, immediately wincing – when would she stop forgetting her ribs were injured? – and replied, “Sometimes it’s not a boy and girl, but if they’re equals, they’re partners. Anyway, I’m sorry, Will, but I need to go. I’ll make sure to put your picture on my new wall, okay?”

Will sighed and let go. “O _kay.”_

A large tigress gave Judy the tiniest, gentlest hug in the world and whispered in her ear. Judy beamed, but didn’t say anything, instead turning to jump into the car. Nick followed her into the back seat, gazing thoughtfully at the backs of Bucky’s and Pronk’s heads. What was their game?

“You didn’t have to come, you know. I don’t own very much,” Judy told him, leaning on his shoulder. She’d buckled herself into the middle to be closer to him. “Thank you for showing up, though. I might have been talked into staying if you hadn’t.”

“I wouldn’t be a good _partner_ unless I came and pretended to help,” he teased. “That’s part and parcel of the boyfriend experience.”

“Yeah? Are you _so_ sad we didn’t order pizza for you to snag while pretending?”

“Devastated. I’m not sure I’ll recover.”

Judy settled her right paw on his left thigh, tapping gently above his knee. With her weight against his side, she felt as solid as he had meant to be when they’d presented a united front to the Chief. Nick slid his arm around her and pulled her in closer, using his claw-tips to scratch her belly underneath her loose white shirt. On average, she didn’t lose as much fur as he did to grooming, but she liked it anyway; she was much more physical than he in every sense, and he was happy to indulge her. If things got as sticky as he suspected they would, the small moments like these were going to be all they had, for a while.

“Jude gave me your address,” said Bucky, “but tell me which street to take. Is it Vine?”

“And then Lemon Avenue, yeah.”

“Well, well, what a fancy guy.” Was it just Nick, or did Bucky sound slightly disparaging? “That’s practically the city center.”

Nick nodded, deciding it wasn’t worth trying to figure out why Judy’s old neighbor sounded funny. “What can I say, I’m good at finding a deal.”

“Uh huh.”

He let it go and sat quietly, scritching Judy’s stomach. If Bucky had a problem with Nick, he would say so. Otherwise, Nick wasn’t going to tie himself in knots trying to impress somebody he didn’t know or didn’t care about.

The car rolled to a stop outside of Nick’s apartment building. Judy, ever the enthusiast, hopped out immediately after Bucky opened her side of the car; he picked up all three of her boxes and followed her lead while Nick trailed behind them, watching. For as much as she’d complained about her neighbors, she seemed on very good terms with them.

A hoof on his shoulder paused him. He looked up to see Bucky’s husband, who said, “Can I have a word?”

“Sure.” As Bucky and Judy disappeared through the front door, Nick focused on Pronk. “What’s up?”

“She doesn’t seem to realize it all the time, but Judy is special,” said Pronk, eyeing him. “Not just to us, but to everybody in our building. She’s been part of our family for six years now, and I won’t say I know all about you, but it feels like I do because she talks about you so damn much. I’m sure you’re a stand-up guy, but she’s far too trusting for her own good...well, anyway, Judy can take care of herself, but she shouldn’t have to, and _all_ of us at the Grand Pangolin Arms would be upset to hear that she’d been hurt again, or taken advantage of. If you are half the mammal Judy thinks you are, you won’t be stupid enough to try.”

Nick’s mouth curled up in amusement. “Is that a threat against an officer of the law?”

“Not a threat, no. Just a friendly reminder that nobody is exactly happy to see her go, and she’ll always have a place to return should you turn out to be...unpleasant. From what I’ve seen, you’re not that kind of mammal, so you have nothing to worry about anyway.”

“Is this the _what are your intentions toward my daughter_ speech? Because I think you’re doing it wrong.”

Pronk snorted. “We’re a family, but nobody would dispute that she’s basically the matriarch. You should have heard what she said to Félinia’s parents; her mom’s face was the _picture_ of offense, and it was awesome. We all look out for each other. So this is me, looking out for her. Just like she’s looked out for all of us.”

“Uh...thanks, I guess? For looking out for her. And for the explanation.” Nick began walking again. “I’m going to go help Judy unpack. I’d invite you in, but my place is too small. Your shoulders wouldn’t even fit through my door.”

“Yeah, and Bucky’s on his way out. You take care of Judy, okay?”

“She can take care of herself.”

“Doesn’t mean she always _has_ to, Fox. See you around.”

Nick waved vaguely over his shoulder and trekked into the basement. He would probably never stop being surprised at the sheer number of _friends_ Judy made wherever she went. When they’d first met, Nick hadn’t been able to understand how she had won over Fru-Fru and Mr. Big. Now, he couldn’t imagine anything else. His partner was far from selfless. She was brash, ambitious, smug (sometimes to the point of obnoxiousness), and so genuinely _nice_ that it sometimes made no sense at all.

He shut the door behind him and saw Judy lean down, the white underside of her tail drawing his focus. He hadn’t often considered tails – everybody had one, the only difference was the shape – but for some reason, hers seemed attractive where everyone else’s was just a species identifier. “Hey, Carrots. Need help?”

“No, I just need to hang up my clothes and put my books away,” she replied, straightening. “Honestly I just want to relax for a little bit. Do you mind?”

“You know me. Any excuse to laze around,” he replied, stepping closer and wondering if she’d let him play with her tail. It was a weird thought.

“So what held you up, anyway?”

“Pronk. Your neighbor.”

“Did he give you the boyfriend talk?” She rolled her eyes. “Sorry about that. He means well, and they’ve been useful in the past when we needed to deter Destiny’s ex. And David’s, for that matter, the one time she was sober enough to try and take the kits. They couldn’t hurt a fly, though, neither Pronk nor Bucky. They’re just looking out for me.”

“Bet you’d have something else to say if that were your _father,”_ he commented, not because he wanted to rile her up – okay, a _little_ because he wanted to rile her up – but because he was interested in the answer.

“My _father,”_ she said with false patience, “would not be doing it from a place of love, but rather a sense of duty. Fortunately for him, he would never.”

That was true enough. Back when he’d first met Stu, the old buck had just given him a hug, asked him to have Judy’s back in the big bad city, and warned him that if he ever broke Judy’s heart she would throw him out the window. Then they’d spent half an hour swapping stories. “I just thought you would be irritated at the intimation that you might need protection.”

“I’m not blind, Nick; the Grand Pangolin Arms is where you end up if you’re running from something or you can’t afford anywhere else,” she said, sidestepping somewhat, “so a lot of folks happen to have abusive individuals in their old lives. Sometimes those individuals find who they’re looking for. Bucky and Pronk...they’re not underestimating _me,_ they just don’t trust outsiders based on experience.”

He grinned. “Bet they never had to chase off any problematic exes of _yours.”_

“What makes you think I have no problematic exes?”

“With your luck, I’m sure _most_ of your exes are problematic. It’s just that, as your dad warned me very early on, you’d throw anybody who hurt you out the window.”

She snorted. “I would not.”

“Okay,” he told her, deliberately dubious. “I believe you.”

“Anyway, the _point_ is, they’re not being overprotective. They’re just being sensible based on prior experience. They know if they chased you away without talking to me, I would come down on them with the fury of the entire…” She slumped. “Of me. I’m just me now. Judy Hopps, formerly of the ZPD.”

“Oh, _Judy.”_ He pulled her close and pretended it wasn’t real. “It’s leave, not termination.”

“And an undercover op that I will _necessarily_ lose myself in, and months – potentially years, worst-case scenario, if I’m not smart enough or good enough to find what we’re looking for – that I won’t be a cop, and even if I wrapped this up in a _week_ you and I will never be partners again, and the Chief is right. I might not come back from this. I might end up being...someone who looks like Judy Hopps, but isn’t, really.” She looked up and blinked rapidly. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I didn’t want to leave you behind. But I’m afraid it will happen behind my back whether I want it to or not.”

“I will follow you to the ends of the earth,” Nick promised. “I will complain and sing show tunes the whole way, but I _will_ follow you.”

* * *

It hardly seemed like a week had passed since they’d wrapped up the cannibal carnival case when Nick went into work on Thursday, but a week had passed. While Judy was settling in (and seeing her therapist), Nick and Davis and Rufflich – a goat and a wolf, both larger than Wolford – were very quietly investigating a lead provided by Beth when Nick had asked her about her home life. Vanessa Appleton had always suspected that Beth’s mother, Beatrice, was a sex worker, but she’d not had concrete proof.

Beth, on the other paw, knew what her mother did for a living, because despite being only nine, the girl had been smart enough to extrapolate from the clues in her life. The clothing that Mama wore when she went to work, the thick smell of other mammals that clung to Beatrice, the prescription contraceptives that Beatrice had taken faithfully despite being single...and, of course, the loud conversations with someone called Gilly about a repeat customer who was constantly dissatisfied. Apparently, Beatrice’s specialty had been toys and nontraditional positions, but this particular customer had wanted her on her back and immobile.

Well, Beth hadn’t worded it quite like that. Nick just knew how to read between the lines.

Through a legitimate agency, prostitution wasn’t illegal, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of “respectable” job that CPS liked to see in their pet projects. In Nick’s opinion, work was work; a paycheck was a paycheck, and at least she wasn’t picking pockets. That was why Nick had been sent into three agency buildings to try to find “Gilly.” Davis and Rufflich had a much more negative attitude toward sex workers.

As it turned out, Gilly did work for the third and final agency. She was a vixen with orange fur and bright amber eyes who ran the operation for its absentee owner. She was almost as well-groomed as he, though she obviously took pride in her appearance while he tended to adopt a deliberately scruffy look. Vanity was, after all, a weakness.

“What can I do for you, Sir,” Gilly asked him, leaning forward to place her paw on his chest. He felt somehow under-dressed in the hushed, casually sterile lobby. He’d opted for a casual look, charcoal slacks with a white button-up and a green tie that matched his eyes; Judy had once complained that it always made his eyes stand out at the expense of his other features, which was a bonus if he didn’t want Gilly to recognize him as the fox officer who’d been on billboards.

“I’m looking for...something kind of specific,” he replied, scratching his ear. An agency didn’t have much to gain by trafficking mammals when they had plenty of willing employees, but on the off-chance that someone _was_ in on it, he didn’t want to spook them. “Someone sturdy but...um, on the smaller side. Not _too_ small, just…”

Gilly gave him a sympathetic look. From a mile away he’d be able to tell it was fake. “Unrequited love?”

“Something like that. My roommate, I guess. She’s amazing. But she doesn’t date...mammals like me.”

“In other words, she doesn’t date foxes.” Her look turned into something realer. “Typical. You smell like a...what is that?”

“Can we not talk about her?”

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what you’re looking for.”

“It’s the _size,”_ he blurted, sticking to the basic script. “Her species doesn’t matter, I just like the way we fit together. I have all these scenarios in my head where she, uh. I. I mean.”

“Hey, this is my job, okay? I’m not gonna judge you, just tell me.”

He put his face in his paws. For the cover story, not because he was talking about sex. He was too cool to get flustered by this. “She...takes me from behind. With, you know, a – strap-on? I know it’s hard to find a female with the know-how and willingness to do that with a stranger, especially when that stranger’s a fox, and the size – it’s really non-negotiable, I’m sorry, it’s to the point where I can’t _focus_ and yeah. Sorry. I just want to get it out of my system. You probably don’t have anyone like that. I’m sor-”

“Don’t apologize,” said Gilly, placing her paw over his lips. “Anal penetration is usually a male thing, but we have a few girls who know how to please a male just like that. The size is an obstacle, but not impossible. Let me just page my girls, okay?”

He nodded, particularly interested in whether or not she’d call for Beatrice. She pressed a button on the reception desk and said, “Hey Samantha, is Beatrice still out sick?”

“Yeah, Boss, just got another text this morning,” a voice replied.

“Dammit. Okay, send me up Lily instead.” Gilly looked at Nick. “I hope she’s not _too_ small, but Lola-”

“Stop,” he said quietly, pulling out his badge. “Nick Wilde, ZPD.”

Her lip curled. “Nothing we do here is illegal.”

“And you’re not under investigation,” he countered. “Beatrice Stripely is missing. We think she was taken by a group of mammal traffickers we’ve been trying to find. We needed to make sure you weren’t in on it before we questioned you, but getting the phone number Beatrice texted you from is now my priority.”

“Cripes, you’re a good actor,” Gilly said, but Nick was suddenly distracted by the newcomer, presumably Lola. She was a rabbit, clad in cork leather, carrying a half-open bag over her shoulder. Her nose twitched at the sight of him. The half-open bag of toys had more in it than just a strap-on, and Nick was struck with a vision of Judy – no, _focus._ Gilly smirked. “Or maybe not all of it’s an act. Lo, shut the door, will you?”

“I’m not actually here for sex,” he reminded her warily.

Gilly snorted. “As if I’d give the likes of _you_ a freebie. Cop _and_ fluff-chaser. I take the safety of my girls very seriously; on the off-chance that someone _else_ is involved, let’s not take the risk of someone overhearing.”

“Wait, cop?” Lola’s eyes widened. Oh, _great._ Nick knew this expression. “Are you Nick Wilde? The fox who helped Judy Hopps?”

“That is, indeed, what my mother named me. But this is about Beatrice-”

“Canyougetmeherautograph?”

“Lo,” Gilly snapped. “A little decorum would be appreciated.”

“Sorry.”

On the whole, Lola looked unrepentant. Nick tried not to grin. She looked so much like Judy’s sister Rivermorn after a long day of pretending to work in the fields.

Gilly rolled her eyes. “Little scat. Anyway, Officer, I’m not planning to let this knowledge get out to the other girls and cause a panic. Bee is a rookie here; used to be freelance, but we got her off the needle and into better company. And before you get your undies in a knot, Roan is a certified social worker, we’re an officially designated rehab facility, and under those conditions we are not under obligation to report. That said, I don’t know how useful her phone number will be, but I’ll get it to you.”

“I was under the impression that they take away everything when they...take mammals,” said Lola, frowning. She was standing in front of the door. Guarding it, Nick might say, but she wasn’t built for physical altercations. He was familiar enough with bunny musculature to be able to know that.

“Yeah. I’m surprised you’re getting texts,” he said, “and this raises some questions about what _actually_ happened to her. All we have is a witness statement from a traumatized under-ten. I can count on you to cooperate and keep this quiet, can’t I?”

“Lo won’t say anything if she knows what’s good for her, and I want Bee to come back home,” said Gilly, “so yeah. Call us if you need more info, or...well, anything _else._ We’re always happy to take paying customers.”

“Yeah, okay,” he replied, uninvested. He was already considering alternative explanations for why two mammals who had showed up all over the mammal trafficking investigation had showed up to beat Beatrice into unconsciousness in front of her cub and drag her into a van.

* * *

So today was a bad day. He could tell because she never could get her ears all the way up on bad days, even as she smiled from her place balled up on the couch and greeted him, like a scene out of a ‘50s sitcom. Though, as far as he could remember, nobody in sitcoms walked around in yellow undies and a Slash tee-shirt.

One of Judy’s least endearing qualities was her ability to brood endlessly without letting on that she was doing it. She’d smile and go through the motions, but it was all mechanical. Her mercurial nature could be grating sometimes, but she was more than worth it, so he just grabbed a bowl of leftover fruit salad from the fridge and flopped next to her on the couch instead of calling her on the distinctive clunk he got from her cheerful, “Hey, Nick!”

“Bunny, I’m home,” he said, giving her his most winning smile. He held out a strawberry to her and added, “You gotta help me eat this, Carrots. Detectives don’t exercise enough. I’m going to get fat if I keep eating all the fruit.”

“I’m not hungry,” she told him.

He rolled his eyes and tried not to groan. So dramatic. “Share it with me anyway. Be a pal. Good mammals help their partners finish the leftovers.”

“I’m not a good mammal, though,” she said, wrinkling her nose and pushing his paw away, and it seemed less jocular than she had perhaps intended it. Therapy days were weird; it was supposed to be helping, and it seemed to be overall, but on the days she went to see the doctor, she came back sad and introspective and prone to quiet self-loathing.

“Do you _actually_ believe that?”

“I mean I try to be good. I try to make decisions that will do the most good for the most animals, and I’m not...a psychopath or anything. But I look at my heroes, and the thing they all have in common is that _they_ don’t like it when they hurt someone. And it’s not enough for me to succeed; I have to _win._ Sometimes I step on others to do it, and I should feel guilty, but I don’t. I’ve never even tried to justify it before. It’s just part of me. My therapist asked me why I feel like I have to win everything, and I couldn’t answer, because none of the possible reasons in my head make sense.”

“Judy, if you don’t eat something, I swear to you I will play Bark at the Moon until your ears bleed,” he threatened, offering the strawberry again. She rolled her eyes and chewed it viciously, clearly unwilling to torture herself with the time- and sun-warped record. “Listen, we’ve already established neither of us are anywhere near perfect. So you’re a little sadistic, who cares? Kit’s not complaining, is she? So you use others sometimes. We all do. You don’t have to be a bleeding heart to be a good mammal. You just have to care, and you care more than anyone else I know. And maybe your reasons are a mystery to you, but since you’ve decided to share this with me, I’ll tell you what _I_ see. I see a bunny who worked hard for everything she has, who constantly got shut down even by the mammals who loved her for 23 years, who was bullied and excluded and had to work twice as hard as everybody else just to get a fraction of the recognition. If you didn’t win, nobody else would count it as success. You had to be the best to be taken seriously and you had to cheat to be the best. I don’t see that as a bad thing, I see it as pragmatic. Now are you going to eat, or am I going to have to feed you like a kit?”

“You should feed me like a goddess,” she shot back, frowning, “since you’re weirdly invested in me already.”

He considered shoving the bowl at her, but a thought struck him. She was trying to goad him into a negative response for reasons that were absolutely transparent, but could she handle a positive response? He fished a blackberry out of the bowl and held it up to her lips, forcing an adoring expression onto his face. “Please eat, _Mistress.”_

Her face went funny and she said, “Oh, that’s che-”

He put the blackberry on her tongue, amused. He got another berry, this one a raspberry, and held it out to her. She opened her mouth and licked his second finger while he replied, “Cheating? Are you sure?”

“Nick, what…”

He deposited the bowl in her lap, knelt in front of the couch, looked up at her through his lashes, and murmured, “Isn’t this what you want?”

“You – oh. _Ooooooh.”_ He’d begun to gently knead her left metatarsals. Her eyes fluttered and she twitched. “I call foul.”

It was...fun, actually, to treat her like a delicate thing. She wasn’t; he was well aware that she could, indeed, throw him out the window, just like Stu had said. But she had probably never allowed anyone to – well, take care of her, either. Maybe Pronk had been onto something. Nick made circles under her medial malleolus and asked, “Foul, hmm? So do you want me to stop?”

Her response was a very dirty look. He only smiled back, knowing he had her. “I’ll make you a deal. If you keep eating…” He pressed a kiss to her ankle. “...Then I’ll keep spoiling you.”

“You’re a dirty rotten scoundrel, and I ought to put you in the corner,” she said, but it was through a mouthful of fruit. Score one for the fox.

“You could.” He smiled widely as his paws moved up her leg, baring his fangs and loving that it never scared her. “But if you did, who would worship you, hmm? What’s higher up on the priority list, your pride or a good massage? I know what I’d choose.”

“That’s because you’re a hedonist, Ni- _ick._ And you’re a terrible in-influence, _oh.”_

He pulled away, only trailing a claw-tip lightly up and down her calf. “Aren’t you going to eat, _Mistress?”_

“If you keep teasing me like that, I _will_ kick you,” she said without heat, and then took a bite of an apple slice.  

“Don’t let your mouth write checks your sweet tail can’t cash,” he teased, and moved on from her soleus to her rectus femoris. She breathed in quickly and sharply, but as he found a rhythm, so did her breathing, and she took another few bites.

He watched her eat as he started over on her right foot, paying attention to the proximal tarsals. Two years prior, she’d broken her talus during a chase, and she never complained or limped, but he knew it still bothered her sometimes. There was a lot, he realized, that she kept to herself, and he didn’t think it was all about keeping secrets. She was just so damn stubborn, so deliberately self-reliant, unwilling – maybe _unable –_ to ask for help instead of demanding it. He knew exactly what it had cost her to ask him for help under that bridge on their first case together, because he shared the same struggle. The biggest difference was the way they’d dealt with it. Where he had sat back and allowed things to happen to him, she’d become the picture of force. Things didn’t happen to Judy; she happened to things.

He used his thumbs to rub circles into her left and right gracilis, eliciting a gasp. She shook and moaned softly, dropping the bowl to the side, as he slowly circled his way upward. She’d quietly eaten almost half of the fruit, which was good for a bad day, so instead of trying to cajole her into another bite, Nick moved on again. He watched in fascination has her toes curled and her left paw went up to grasp her own headfur when he pressed his thumbs into her left and right pectineus. Her pleased cry was downright _obscene._

Leaning close, he asked, “May I taste you?”

“You may,” she answered, but she didn’t sound nearly as imperious as her words would imply.

She screwed up her face as he moved, not to taste her yet, but to rub much smaller circles on the hard nub of her clitoris through her undies. Her right paw fluttered, as though she didn’t know what to do with it, before she rested it on the back of his head and used her nails to scratch behind his ears where he was sensitive. She smelled...not good, exactly, but not entirely unappealing. She smelled like she had tasted in the shower. He was coming to enjoy learning what hormonal shifts meant what reactions, but the acidic scent of vasocongestion, or perhaps the fluid caused by it, was distinct. By the time he pulled the yellow cotton fabric to the side, Judy was rocking into his paw, so he paused and told her, “You really should hold still if you don’t want to damage your ribs further.”

“Don’t know if I can,” she said, slightly breathless.

“Pull on my fur,” he suggested, “like you did when you got field stitches.”

She buried both paws in his headfur and tugged him forward gently. He saw no reason not to oblige and licked with the middle of his tongue, so it would go flat. She cried out again, wiggling in place; he put a gentle paw against her stomach so she would remember not to move. In response, her tugging intensified, but that was all right. It felt kind of nice. He didn’t think he’d mind if she did it more often. Even though he was interested in her myriad reactions, Nick didn’t want to tease her, so he focused on her properly, using what he’d learned about her the first time and applying the things she’d liked most. Eventually, her legs shook and clenched around his head while his tongue slicked with her vaginal fluids, signaling that she’d had an orgasm, but he decided he wasn’t done until she told him he was. She knew her body better than he did, and maybe she’d be less stressed afterward. He licked and licked until she cried, “S-stop, I can’t take anymore!”

He pulled back and rested his muzzle on her left thigh, watching her draw breath and waiting for her to come down. She was wet, from his tongue and from her own secretions whose flavor lingered in his mouth. It was getting easier to stomach the idea of sharing more than just space.

“You’ll be the death of me,” she grumbled after a few moments of boneless breathing, but she snagged his paw and kissed it, so he knew she didn’t mean it.

“Not if you kill me first,” he replied, ever the tease. “Now I have to clean the couch cushion to get rid of the evidence.”

“That’s entirely your fault.” She squinted at him. “Are you...you’re not really mad. Right?”

“No, I’m not. And I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“It was...overwhelming. Not bad, though. Usually...well, I haven’t had any partners who paid attention like you do. Are you, uh. Do you want me to return the favor?”

Nick looked away, feeling guilty and not really sure why. There wasn’t any reason to be. “I’m not really feeling it tonight, Carrots.”

“So you just did that for me...because you wanted to?” She stared, incredulous. “That’s it?”

He shrugged. “Is that not a thing? Am I doing this wrong? Should we – should there be coitus involved by now?”

“You,” she said, rubbing the side of his muzzle, “are not doing anything wrong. I guess I’ve just never been with anyone who loved me. It’s weird, but not bad weird. Just so we’re clear, when you were...pretending to worship me...that was just a dirty trick to get me to eat when I was upset, right? It wasn’t real?”

“It was real in that I was doing it.” He leaned into her touch. “It was real in that I think someone should have done it long before now. But no, I don’t see you as a goddess. You’re a real animal. And you’re a real pain in the tail sometimes. You’re stubborn, you’re forceful, and you make some _really_ bad choices. It’s one of the reasons I love you: you don’t try to hide your flaws, you just work around them. Or use them. I would never put you on a pedestal, Judy Hopps, because I respect you. _Buuuuut,_ I wouldn’t be averse to doing that again sometime. I like making you squirm.”

“You _would,”_ she said with a snort. “You know, you’re kind of a brat.”

“Absolutely. One hundred percent. It’s a point of pride. Sometimes, to get what you want, you have to be nice. Other times, you just have to be as annoying as possible. I’m awesome enough to be able to do both.”

“Yes, yes you are. And speaking of both, I need to shower, and _you_ need to brush your teeth. Care to accompany me to the bathroom, Detective Wilde?”

“Certainly,” he answered. He paused for effect, leaned close, and added, _“Mistress.”_

And sure, the over-emphasized obsequiousness wasn’t real, but he would never get tired of that fondly exasperated expression.

* * *

When Nick’s spare phone vibrated, he looked around the room, lightly paranoid. He and Judy did twice-daily checks for bugs or cameras, but still, he worried. He didn’t want to get caught flagrantly violating protocol when they were being given an out by their own government.

_Going to meet PL. Will give details after._

He erased it, and his text of affirmation, immediately. There was no use keeping a record of their rule-breaking.

Although Nick didn’t like to think of himself as a worrywart, it wasn’t an inaccurate assessment. Fortunately, he had received another recipe from Bonnie Hopps over email, so he could get to work trying out a new kind of carrot cake instead of sitting and fretting in the dark. He didn’t love carrots, but he didn’t mind them either, and frosting made _everything_ better. So did cooking, if he were to be completely honest with himself. It was a precise, rhythmic activity that allowed for creativity within specific parameters. Temperatures did certain things. Ingredients behaved certain ways. Nick enjoyed breaking rules, but it was comforting to _have_ rules in the first place. To know what he was getting himself into if he chose to break them.

And...he’d never been big on cultural traditions, but food was _huge_ within fox culture. It was its own kind of currency, and every tod grew up learning how to woo vixens with paw-cooked meals and fruity treats. Nick was not by any means a professional – which hadn’t exactly warmed vixens to him, though in retrospect that was good news for his and Judy’s relationship – but some things were just _things you did._ Absorbed culture. Even if, in this case, he was shredding carrots, which was something more traditionalist foxes would probably tease him for.

Putting the shreds to the side, he brought out the kitchen mallet and poured walnuts into a rubber pouch. Bonnie had recommended using an electric chopper, but he didn’t own one, and anyway, sometimes it was wonderfully cathartic to just hit things with a wooden mallet.

 _Thud. Thud. Thud._ Nick wasn’t keen to hurt other mammals, but he could sort of see why Judy enjoyed spanking her other fox. This was rhythmic, too, and more physically challenging than one would expect from a kitchen endeavor. He could hear the shelled nuts cracking and breaking under the force of the mallet and wondered what it would sound like if Judy –

No. Nick was still somewhat skittish about the sexual component of their relationship, and they were _conning a crime boss,_ and maybe they could talk about experimenting with another dynamic after everything had blown over, but right now there was no use in thinking about the thrill he felt when she claimed him as hers.

(Even if he still felt vindictive pleasure thinking about how Castleberry must have felt watching Judy groom him in public.)

As he beat the wet ingredients with the sugar, he thought about his newest case instead. He would probably share it with Judy, protocol be damned, because she would probably be nosy about it as a distraction from her daunting task, and because he could hide paw-written notes to her in his case files. He couldn’t decide whether this whole thing felt like third grade or a comic book.

Beth Stripely didn’t have any living family, so Vanessa Appleton had been tasked with finding her temporary housing. It was a sad reality of the system that in the two days since Beth had come into the station, they hadn’t had much luck. Nobody wanted an older cub whose mother had only recently stopped using drugs; even the families that worked with high-risk cubs were reluctant to let potential delinquents into their homes, especially those of a species with a somewhat unsavory reputation. As far as stereotypes went, red pandas tended to be viewed with less distrust than foxes, but that wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement. All species whose ancestors had stolen food rather than catching it for themselves had a similar reputation, and that surely wasn’t an accident. The era of food politics had clearly had far-reaching consequences, and it was funny that he hadn’t bothered to make that connection until just recently, though perhaps not surprising. Red pandas were lumped in with raccoons by virtue of having physical characteristics in common, not because they had actually stolen food.

Nick preheated the oven and added the dry ingredients, making sure to keep the coconut flakes for last. He didn’t want them to get too soggy. Judy was going to _love_ this.

It didn’t make sense that Gilly’s agency was still receiving texts from Beatrice if she had been taken by the same traffickers who had taken the other mammals, but on the other paw, there was no reason for her to have left her daughter behind if she was on the run for some reason...and again, if she were on the run, she wouldn’t be texting her boss. It was possible that someone else was doing it to allay suspicion while they transported Beatrice to wherever they held their captives, but that brought up more questions than it answered. Why _this_ one? Why would they make a special distinction for her? Was it, perhaps, a more intimate thing unrelated to the mammal trafficking case? Were the kitnappers actually freelance, and had they been hired? Was it coincidence? Was it a safety precaution because they hadn’t expected Beatrice to have a child? Why hadn’t they _taken_ Beth?

IT was doing what they could to ping Beatrice’s location using her phone number, but they were missing too many details for it to be a quick fix. For all they knew, it was a burner phone, and those were notoriously hard to track. That was why he and Judy had chosen to use them to communicate, after all.

It didn’t look like this case had much in common with their investigation, but the problem was that this was their best and newest lead. _(Mix in walnuts and coconut flakes; blend for 20 seconds; pour into 2 greased pans and bake for half an hour.)_ They had to investigate this case as though it _was_ part of the larger investigation, because it did have mammals in common, but Nick had the feeling that it wasn’t as related as they hoped. If nothing else, they might catch two criminals who were involved with their real case, and hopefully find a scared little girl’s mother as well. He didn’t want Beth to grow up in and age out of the foster system. That usually didn’t end well, _especially_ for kits from “at risk” species.

They still had some fermented cashew spread and coconut butter in the fridge, though the frosting was probably going to be thinner than the recipe required. He reduced the amount of sugar and vanilla to fit the amount of spread in the tub and hummed a little as he beat the ingredients.

He needed to talk to Beth again. Her description of the attackers had been unnervingly detailed, and while it was _possible_ that she had been lying, he didn’t think it was likely. Her descriptions of everything had been unnervingly detailed, even her description of the officers who’d responded to her sensible emergency call. What he wanted was to guide her through her memory, even though it would hurt. What had the attackers said? What words had they used? Could she remember brand logos or verbal tics? But Appleton probably wouldn’t let him near Beth again. She’d been unhappy enough just to let him _talk_ to the girl.

Nick put the frosting in the fridge and sat down on the couch, waiting for the oven timer to go off. It had been just about an hour since his last text from Judy; he checked his messages, but there was nothing, until there was something.

_Went well. We need to talk about contingencies. Back soon._

Nick deleted her text and busied himself with getting the cake out of the oven. She would probably arrive within twenty minutes or so; that was plenty of time to let the cake cool, frost it, and cut her a piece. He was anxious again, a byproduct of thinking about Judy’s new job. At least he had Sudoku to keep him occupied while he waited for the cake to cool.

Judy walked through the door just as he was putting the empty frosting bowl into the sink to soak. Her nose twitched and she smiled as she realized what he’d made. “I was going to tell you a joke I heard on the train, but Nick, all I can say is I love you.”

“Don’t say that yet,” he told her, cutting into the cake. He’d been right about the frosting, but that was all right. “I’ve never made this before. It could be terrible.”

 _“It could be terrible,”_ she mocked. “You’ve never made anything terrible in your life, I’d bet.”

He reminded himself that Judy didn’t have the greatest sense of taste so that he wouldn’t feel giddy at her declaration. Rabbits didn’t usually express the same attitude toward food that foxes did. He gave her a plate with a fork and followed her to the couch with his own. “Well, don’t shove it all in your mouth yet. This could be the first time.”

The little pleased hum she made at her first taste was flattering. He tried his own piece and found it to be...less sweet than he usually preferred, but not bad. “You like it, Judy?”

“I’m keeping you just for this cake. It’s better than my mom’s.”

He snorted. “It’s her recipe.”

“Mom never makes it with coconut, and she tends to be precise. No variation at all. We were always grateful to be fed, so we never complained about how she never really made food with love or whatever, but you can just _tell_ the difference.”

“Foxes say that food is more important than sex,” he offered. “If you and I were a traditional couple, it’d be my duty to make you happy through food. I’m not sure why it turned out like that. Foxes never really had cultural gender roles until some undocumented time after we officially signed the First Agreements. I only know that _ancient_ vixens provided protection and a den for her kits during birthing season and tods were supposed to bring food during that time, and if he satisfied her she’d keep him or...something. Archaeology is mostly guesswork anyway.”

“With cake like this, I’m having a hard time understanding why you were single for so long. How come some vixen didn’t club you over the head and drag you into her den, never to let you go?”

“Ha. As flattering as that is, I’m not exactly the best cook. I can handle easy stuff, but nothing impressive or flashy. And it’s usually traditionalist vixens who follow historical norms; mostly the food thing is just regular flirting.”

“Wait, wait.” She looked up at him, smirking. _Great._ “All this time you’ve been flirting with me?”

“You’re not a vixen. It doesn’t mean the same thing to you. It’s not really flirting if the message doesn’t translate.”

“I am going to _choose_ to interpret that another way, because I suspect it’ll get me more cake.”

He reached over to smooth her ears, which had the intended effect of making her quiet. Sometimes during their little grooming rituals she was so docile he forgot that she was 2.8 feet of muscle and hard training. “You seem like you’re feeling better.”

She nodded, eyes closed. “I am.”

“So your – what was it, a job interview? – that went well?”

“I think so. I’ll probably be able to start in a week or so, provided my ribs don’t stop me from doing my job. It isn’t nearly as physical as police work, but my new boss...or, well, I _hope_ he’ll be my new boss...he said he doesn’t want to take any chances with my health.”

Yeah, that sounded like Mr. Big. He liked to get as much use as possible out of his employees, and allowing them to physically damage themselves was not good for business. He faked a heavy sigh. “Then I guess we probably can’t spend a few days in the Inner Islands?”

“Why on earth would we _want_ to? You’ve got work, and you know how restless I can get.”

He tapped the top of her head and gave her a pointed look when she met his gaze. “I thought it would be nice to get away. Get a hotel room, leave our phones at home...go on a real date maybe. We’ve both been so stressed out lately. It would be nice to be able to just relax and _talk_ without work getting between us.”

“I mean,” she hedged, understanding his code, “we _could._ I don’t start until next week, so we can probably schedule something if you can wrangle an animal day. You’re right; we’ve spent so much time as two cops that it might be nice to be somebody else for a day or two. Yeah, I like the idea of a weekend at the Inner Islands.”

He could picture it now. They’d book a room at the Hollow Tree Inn right in the heart of Happytown; nobody would dare say anything, even if anyone managed to realize they weren’t actually at the busy tourist destination. Nick would book a room using an old alias he’d never burned. Maybe Marthe Whitetail; it would give him an opportunity to show Judy what he looked like wearing a ceremonial gown. They would leave their official phones at the apartment, and in their little oasis in the chaos, they could discuss their plan and the contingencies that Judy had mentioned. Maybe it wasn’t a perfect solution, but it would be nice to get away. Just for a bit. Even if it wasn’t real, they could pretend it was, and that was half the battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am in love with the idea of the Grand Pangolin Arms being a community who believe “it takes a village.” They don’t always get along, but Félinia (the tiger on the first floor) is always willing to make bagged lunches for the kids whose parents are running low on cash this month, and her ultra-religious parents found out the hard way that the community as a collective will drag you if you deadname her. Everybody chips in on each other’s rent and food costs if necessary. David is a prostitute and single father who’s saving every penny to give his kids a college education, and in exchange for Judy turning a blind eye, he brings her food that hasn’t been frozen and microwaved and drives her places when public transport isn’t running. His kids (Will, especially) look up to Judy and hope she’ll marry their dad one day. Dharma may be crusty but gladly tutors ESL (TSL?) students, Bucky and Pronk may be loud and annoying but are willing to vaguely threaten your creepy ex, Destiny the "exotic dancer" puts in a good word at the bar any time someone needs a job, and Judy’s basically the team mom who will throw down if you even think about hurting her family. It’s Happytown so everybody’s poor, but Judy’s used to that, and she thrives on community. She didn’t turn down Nick’s offer to move in out of fear or distrust or whatever, but because she wasn’t ready to let go of another family until circumstances forced her hand.


	13. Performance Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Judy prepare for war. Meanwhile, Nick's new case takes a dangerous turn and a Missing Mammals case becomes animal to our protagonists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The good news is, I’m no longer on a bender, so my liver might survive a little longer. The bad news is, I’m no longer on a bender, so I’m sure the quality of my writing will not be the same. Better? Worse? Who even knows. All I do know is that this chapter is short. If I combined it with next chapter it would be too long, so you get a too-short chapter instead. It’s low on details, but important to set up the final few chapters.

Nick had never been so grateful for his schedule. The long weekend allowed him to book a room at the Hollow Tree Inn for two nights under the alias Marthe Whitetail – until he’d mentioned the old con to Judy, he’d honestly forgotten about it, but it was good in this case to have a separate, gently-used identity – and his monthly on-call weekend had been two weeks ago, so he was safe to leave his phone at his and Judy’s apartment. 

Hollow Tree was a rundown little spa-hotel in the heart of District 13, where the climate regulators had been so routinely on the fritz that the city council had decided to turn them off every 10th of November and turn them back on every 10th of March. Unfortunately, the lack of regulation meant that District 13 was not a consistent habitat. Judy was used to seasonal changes, having lived outside of the city for most of her life and then Happytown during her time as an officer, but Nick wasn’t prepared for the biting cold of mid-November. Still, it was better than staying in their apartment passing notes...or worse, actually going to the Inner Islands, which was a crowded tourist stop full of loud noises and irritating visitors. 

The most convenient thing about Hollow Tree was that visitors could pay in cash, which was a rarity now that most of the world had embraced plastic as the go-to. Marthe Whitetail and her companion could stay without a credit card number on file. As far as conveniences went, it was underwhelming, but useful. Nick appreciated utility in sticky situations. And, well, this was sticky in more than one sense. 

All of the tiny tension lines bled out of Judy when she slept, and Nick would probably never get tired of looking at her. Perhaps he should have felt a little creepy, staring at her when she was asleep, but he didn’t. He so rarely awoke before she did that it was a small treat to see her so unconcerned. For a moment, he could forget the heavy burden resting on them both.

“Hmm, Nick,” she murmured, turning onto her side. “I’ll do it. He’s good.”

So she was dreaming about last night. Maybe that was how she processed. They’d been up until three in the morning discussing the contingency plans they might need, both of them hoping they wouldn’t need to use any of the plans. Nick got the impression that MBI protection was contingent upon Judy’s success with the mission they’d assigned her. He and Judy had two duffel bags packed neatly and hidden in one of Nick’s old safehouses, a leftover from his paranoid street days. They both knew where his caches were and when to contact each other if they ever needed to run, but there were plenty of other things they had decided to try first if things went...sideways.

It was ten in the morning. As much as he didn’t want to, he had to wake her so that they could stash some things in the tunnelway. There were plenty of nooks and crannies they could use, and the lack of security cameras made access easy. He prodded her gently. “Hey, Judy.”

“Hmm,” she said again, rubbing her face in his chest. Aww.

“C’mon, Jude, time to wake up,” he told her, testing the weight of  _ Jude  _ in his mouth. He liked it. “Hey, Jude. Judy, Judy, Judy,  _ Judeh.” _

“Oh, crackers, not the  _ song,”  _ she complained, voice thick with sleep.

“What song,” he asked innocently. “There’s no singing here, not while you’re asleep. I’m waiting for someone to perform with.”

“Okay,  _ Dad.”  _ She stretched, arching into and away from him as she did so. Afterward, she sat up, scratching her belly. “What time is it?”

“Ten. I had to let you sleep in. You haven’t been sleeping enough.”

“Thanks.” The bed squeaked as she pushed herself up so she could rest her cheek on her paw and look at him. “Feels like that’s the first real sleep I’ve gotten in...gosh, I can’t even remember.”

The “Inn” part of Hollow Tree was objectively a scathole. Its peeling wallpaper, unidentifiable floor stains, and baseboard funk were not exactly comforting. The walls were thick enough that it would take an elephant to hear through them, though, which was probably why Judy had slept so well. Where Nick had days where every scent was overwhelming enough to make the skin under his fur itch and make non-initiated physical contact almost unbearable, Judy had the same problem with sound on a constant basis. It was a bunny thing, she’d told him once, just like the twitching noses. She’d just gotten used to it, apparently, although Nick knew from experience that running on just a few hours of sleep wasn’t going to be an option in a few years.

“We did soak in the springs last night,” he reminded her. She still smelled a bit like the hot rocks and mineral water, as Nick imagined he did. He couldn’t smell himself, though. He only hoped he didn’t stink like damp fur. 

“True. I feel like a new bunny.”

“It’s the lack of tension. Though if you start sleeping in like this  _ all  _ the time you’re going to get lazy.”

She laughed. They both knew that wasn’t likely. Judy wasn’t the type to sleep in often; even in the deepest part of her depressive spell he hadn’t noticed much of a change in her sleeping patterns, just a steep increase in her caffeine intake. “What do you want to do later today? I’d be okay with another dip in the springs.”

“I was thinking something a little more physical. You know how to waltz, right?”

“...Yes, I may have been forced to learn.”

He smiled and waved a paw. “I learned to impress a potential client. Would you like to go dancing tonight? There’s some kind of gala next door. We can probably get in. I don’t think it’s exclusive.”

“I’d love to, but...I have to warn you, I backlead something fierce,” she confided.

“Yeah, surprising no one.” Nick snorted. “You never could stand to let anyone else tell you what to do.”

Sounding insulted, Judy said, “I let the Chief and the Captain tell me what to do!”

“You did not. You backled at work, too. The only reason we made detective was that you kept getting into stuff you shouldn’t, and they figured since you were good at it anyway they might as well just aim you at the bad guys.”

“You make me sound so unattractive. And stupid.”

He rubbed the soft fur of her cheek, just above her old scars. “Never. You  _ make  _ mammals eight times your size do what you want. It’s not subtle, but it is effective and  _ very  _ sexy. Backleading is fine when your partner’s tripping over his own feet.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a commentary on Chief Bogo or on me.”

“On the entire world. Carrots, everything about this is messed up. What kind of place is this where we’re running from a criminal empire whose boss we could kill with one of your toes? Where our government sends mammals to die for us but doesn’t provide care for them after they get back? What kind of justice system allows businesses to refuse service to foxes and yet somehow fails to catch and convict someone like our cold little friend? They set you up to fail on your first case, which you backled on, and you may have been able to forgive the Chief for that, but I haven’t.”

“Then why are you still an officer?” She didn’t sound judgmental. He wondered if she was as frustrated as he. “Why do it if you’re upset with them?”

“Because I took an oath, but not to him. I promised to protect and serve Zootopia. My job isn’t to like or respect who’s in charge, but to solve crimes and catch criminals so that they won’t continue to harm the citizens of my city. I chose that for myself when I was nine, long before I met you, but I didn’t believe it was possible for a  _ fox _ until you and the Chief gave me a chance.”

“Nick.”

He allowed her to touch his face, eyes falling shut when she began to run her fingers through his fur. She always knew where it would feel great. “Yes?”

“I’m really glad I’m the best choice for this stupid assignment. I’m really glad it’s not you.”

He opened one eye. “Why?”

“Because if it were you, it would never work. Nobody would believe it.”

“Excuse me? Carrots, compare: the do-gooder bunny who wants to save the world versus the recovering street hustler who used to lie for a  _ living.  _ And you think I’m not good enough?”

It shouldn’t have stung, but it did, even though the pleasantness of her petting. For so long, Nick had defined himself by his particular set of skills. He was smart. He was good at connecting. He was a  _ great  _ actor. But if Judy, who had no reason to pretend those skills onto him, didn’t think he had those skills anymore, then...what was he? What use was he to the ZPD, or to her?

“No, that’s not it,” she protested.

“Then what  _ do  _ you mean, if it’s not that I’m not good enough?”

“You are good.  _ Too _ good,” she told him, and at least that soothing tone wasn’t patronizing. It was the same kind of voice she used whenever she realized that she wasn’t using the right words to convey her meaning. “Nobody would believe it because  _ you are too good.” _

“What,” he said flatly.

“It’s not a secret that you were...a little less than honest before you met me. You didn’t have a criminal record, but you did have a record of being  _ very  _ annoying, and cops remember that when they have to. You were smart – brilliant – and slick and good at what you did. But you changed.” She sat up again and reached out to hold his muzzle between gentle paws, looking into his eyes with an intensity that made something inside of him pace around anxiously. “You worked  _ so hard  _ to change, too. Everybody saw that. Could we fool a few cops if you said the right things at the right times? Sure. Fangmeyer would see through it, but they’d probably back us up. Wolford, too, and maybe the Chief. But there’s no way you could convince Mr. Big that after years of slowly going as straight as you could without getting...legitimate employment...and then more years as a cop and absolutely upstanding citizen, you just  _ decided  _ to lapse. You could force yourself to do anything that was necessary, I think. You’re a much better actor than I am. But you’re a better mammal than I am, too. That’s something animals notice.”

“You think I’m...a good mammal?” Nick blinked. “Seriously?”

Because Nick  _ wasn’t  _ a good mammal. He’d lied, cheated, and hurt others for decades before reforming. He’d tried to leave every party satisfied in his adult years, but he had always looked out for himself first, and as a teenager he hadn’t had nearly as many rules and scruples. His acid tongue had trashed plenty of mammals who probably hadn’t deserved it. But how could she say he was good if she knew about his self-imposed rules? Shouldn’t a good animal just do good things without needing a list of do’s and don’ts? There was so much he still needed to make up for. Maybe he’d never be done making up for the past.

“You,” she told him, kissing his brow, “are so ridiculously, unbearably good. There is no way a legitimate criminal would ever believe you wanted to quit being a cop. Compare: the recovering street hustler who used to lie for a living and now catches criminals and does community outreach projects with at-risk teens...versus a bunny with a history of giving up when mammals prove to be awful, whose ties to the mob are documented, whose therapist will testify under oath that she’s depressed and experiencing intrusive violent thoughts. You may be better at the  _ acting  _ part, but I’m a better candidate for slipping over the line. Besides, Paul is already on my tail for taking too long to recover from what should have been a minor injury; imagine what he would think of you, since you have to plan out every little thing long before you do it. Your methodical way of doing things would never fly in this situation even if you were otherwise the perfect candidate. I just do stuff like a dumb little...I mean, I know you don't like it when I call myself  _dumb,_ but you know what I mean. Like a stereotype.”

On the one paw, Nick didn’t love her negative self-talk, but on the other...she wasn’t wrong. Their comparative histories and patterns of behavior spoke for themselves. It wouldn’t be hard for Judy to make a convincing criminal, even though one of her central traits was the joy she found in doing the right thing. Her flair was dramatic and a little scary. This was the same bunny who’d blown up a drug lab in pursuit of a terrorist instead of, you know, doing the sane thing and taking some of the evidence to the authorities.

Maybe if all of this had happened a month after he’d finished the academy, all of his coworkers (sans Judy) would have believed, but Mr. Big wouldn’t have, and neither would anyone else who’d known him previously. Nick knew “everybody,” but that meant a certain amount of visibility amongst the criminal element. Everybody who knew him knew that after turning nineteen, he had been particularly squeamish about actively causing harm, though he hadn’t given too much thought to the passive consequences of his actions.

Were it not for her bizarre friendship with Judy (who Ruth had decided was a predator in disguise), his mother would probably have called him a disgrace before her death. His father would have been so proud of him.

“I love you,” he told her, feeling slightly helpless. For all that they had plans A through G, he wasn’t confident that they could pull this off. 

Her gentle look became something vicious that resonated through his body. “I believe you. But if you want to prove it, take care of yourself. No matter what happens...put yourself first. And if we have to use one of our less reliable plans, just remember that I love you. Even if I’m not there every single day to tell you, that will never get any less true. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but whatever it was, I’m glad you decided I do.”

“Oh, please,” he teased. “You don’t deserve me, Carrots. You stole me, and now you’re stuck with me. Good luck dealing with me when I’m old and arthritic and cranky.”

She rolled off the bed with a grin. “I look forward to watching you yell at small children to get off our lawn. In the meantime, let’s get our chores done and go dancing before your poor old knees give out.”

* * *

Tuesday morning saw Wolford putting his foot down with the social worker, who probably wouldn’t have lasted much longer anyway. She seemed rather frustrated and uninvested in what happened to Beth, a stark change from the week before. Then again, Beth was precocious. Sometimes that made children seem bratty and arrogant. According to Bonnie, Judy had been the same, using large words at a young age, reading age-inappropriate books on the sly, and trying to learn about adult concepts that small children simply didn’t have the capacity to understand. In comparison, Nick had always guarded his intelligence, hiding it behind a friendly-yet-selfish, obtuse persona.

“I need you to take me back to when your mom was hurt, Beth,” Nick said to the girl, trying to mimic Judy’s calming voice. He tended to be a good mediator for adults, but he still wasn’t used to kits. “I need you to describe everything you saw. Are you okay doing that?”

She looked down at her paws, which were restless in her lap. Her feet swung back and forth at the edge of the oversized chair in the interview room they used for witnesses, which was slightly more cozy than the one they used for suspects. “Will it help you find my mama?”

“Every little bit of information helps.”

“Well...okay. Mama had her uniform on, the one with the special undies. They have a hole in ‘em. Her uniform makes her fur puff out over the top, so she looks fluffy like the girl from the Roger Rabbit show.  _ I  _ want a pretty sparkly dress when I grow up even though I’m not a fox like Jessica. Do you have a pretty sparkly dress, Mister Officer Nick Wilde?”

“No, just regular ones,” he joked, at the same time that Appleton snapped at Beth that males didn’t wear dresses,  _ don’t be stupid. _ Nick didn’t roll his eyes, but he did try to get the conversation back on track. “Tell me what happened that night.”

“The uniform. It’s blue because Miss Gilly says blue makes Mama’s eyes pop, which is silly because her eyes just stay in her head. Mama was wearing it and said for me to stay in the closet when she looked out the peephole that I have to use a stool when I look out of it. So I went in the big closet and I took Mama’s book.” Beth suddenly looked guilty. “I shouldn’t have taken it, but Furlock Holmes is better than the stupid baby books they make us read in class. Anyway, Mama let in the two big guys and looked up at them and said she already paid the money.”

This was new information. Beth had described the attack in detail, but had not bothered with the events leading up to it. Nick suspected that the initial interviewers had focused on the attack because of the individuals involved. He certainly had. It seemed like a stupid oversight in retrospect, but at the time, he’d been simultaneously trying to get information about the wolves in question and trying not to treat Beth like a stupid kit while keeping the interview age-appropriate. It was beyond time to rectify that. Beth was still a kit, or rather  _ cub, _ but she was smart enough that he didn’t need to talk down to her.

“We know who they were, but we didn’t know your mom owed them any money. Did anyone mention what it was for?”

“No. I wanted to ask, cos we don’t have any money, and it’s not fair,” she said matter-of-factly.

“But you stayed in the closet like your mom asked.”

“Duh. Mama always tells me why a rule is a rule, cos I said rules are dumb if there’s no reason for them. When Mama tells me to get in the closet, it’s a rule for safety because not everybody is a good mammal and some of them might be mean to me if they see me. I’ve gone into the closet three times and nobody was mean to me even though they were sometimes mean to her. It’s a good rule even if it’s hard to read in there.”

Children. The world was simpler for them, even children with big ideas. Nick remembered having to grow up young, but even when he’d first begun working the streets, he’d filtered things through a more black and white lens. The “shades of gray” outlook hadn’t surfaced until he’d hit about sixteen or so. 

“Do you remember the words they said?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell us what the words were?”

She looked away. “Mama said I shouldn’t say some of the words.”

He tried not to smile, because that would be inappropriate, but that was kind of adorable out of context. “I think this is a special case, Beth. If you’re just quoting, it’s okay. It might help us find her if we know what they said and how they said it. Sometimes bad guys use special words or phrases that mean something else, and sometimes those words can help us figure out who they’re working for.”

“Like a...oy-fa-missum?”

Yep, she was definitely smart, and her mispronunciation was something that Judy might actually squeal over. “Exactly. Like a euphemism.”

“Well, okay. The one by the door said that Mama may have paid what she originally owed, but she didn’t pay the interest. I don’t know what’s interesting about money unless it’s chocolate coins, but that’s what he said.  _ Mama  _ said the interest was...ne...negligible? And she already paid  _ it,  _ too. The one by the coat rack said she was wrong and could repay in service, whatever that means. She said she got a specific loan from a big player and looked weird when she said it, like she does when she’s talking about work and she thinks I don’t know what it means.  _ Biiiiiiiig  _ player. Probably a giraffe or a rhinoceros or something cos they’re  _ huge. _ The one by the door did a thing with his feet like dumb cubs do when they’re trying to get a static shock, but the one by the coat rack got really mad and said – the words Mama doesn’t like –  _ he would never work with a,  _ um,  _ ruttin slut like you,  _ and the one by the door kept saying  _ oh scat oh scat,  _ and then they did the fight that I told Mister Officer Wolford about. The one by the door saw me, but he didn’t say anything. I told Mister Officer Wolford that but I forgot to tell you because I was trying to remember their clothes. I like clothes. I want to make them when I grow up. They were wearing really nice pants from  _ Preyda,  _ even though they weren’t prey, but their ties were made of cheap material, and they had these things on their feet…”

This wasn’t new information, but that explained why she’d been so detailed when describing the two abductors. The addition of shoes meant the wolves were well-funded. Shoes were expensive; they were almost never worn by mammals outside of performers who needed better tread on a stage, but some criminals did use them to help obscure the evidence, and there was only one legitimate company in Zootopia that was licensed to sell shoes at all. Without prints, CSI’s often couldn’t tell the species of the perpetrator, which made the pool of suspects much wider, so the product was highly regulated.

“Do you remember anything else?”

“Just that Mama was scared. I don’t like it when she’s scared. She doesn’t fight back when mammals are mean and they hurt her and I’m not big enough to protect her.”

That was life in a poor family. Primary caregivers were often too afraid to rock the boat that they allowed others to walk all over them, because  _ at least I have a job.  _ Or worse,  _ I can’t get a job if I make noise.  _ Beth didn’t seem to understand the reasoning, but she did – unfortunately – understand the outcome.

“Thank you for talking to me,” he said sincerely. There wasn’t much information he could work with, but it was true: every little bit could end up being important. Nick didn’t like the implications of getting a loan from a  _ big player,  _ because there were very few situations in which that wording would make sense. Then again, it did answer some questions. Beatrice  _ was  _ special. Whoever she’d owed money to knew that disappearing her was a bad idea, so they had set it up to look like she wasn’t gone. Texting her employer had been a safeguard against Mr. Big. It didn’t explain why Beth had been left on her own instead of taken from the closet. Perhaps the wolf who’d seen her had a soft spot for children, or perhaps they’d been given orders to  _ only  _ take Beatrice. Either way, the details of the case were still vague, and tracking the criminals was slow going. Whoever had Beatrice’s phone was probably only tangentially related to whoever had taken Beatrice, and although pinging the phone’s location might get them that far, they’d have to have an enticing deal ready to get them to cooperate.

Once again, he had a case that probably (but not certainly) dealt with Mr. Big. It was official: the universe hated him.

* * *

Nick almost didn’t hear the news. It wasn’t a vice case, so hearing it was simply being in the right place at the right time because he’d gone into the station early. A concerned vixen was arguing with the irritable giant panda whose work was limited to intake and reception when Clawhauser was off-duty, and Reggie White was not willing to speak to a vixen.

“Listen, you sneaky little-”

“Hey, Reg,” Nick said, smoothly sidling up to the harried-looking fox. She was well-groomed, as foxes tended to be, but he could see that she hadn’t taken care of her claws in some time. She was going to get arthritis, but that tended to be a problem amongst foxes who couldn’t afford professional manicures. “What was that about sneaking? I don’t blend into the scenery  _ that  _ much, do I?”

“Wilde,” White said tightly. “What a pleasure to see you.”

“Right? You’re always an absolute  _ joy  _ to talk to. And speaking of, what were you trying to say, Miss…?”

“Mary Konn,” said the vixen, smoothing her dress along her hips. “I’m here to report a missing mammal. I went over to borrow a cup of sugar from my neighbors, and I found Angel huddled on the floor, almost dead from bleeding out. She could hardly speak. And her wife, Kathleen, is missing. We don’t know where she is, but from what Angel told the psych doc at the hospital, Kath didn’t leave, someone took her. Right in front of Angel. I’m here to  _ report  _ it, because when we called in this morning, nobody bothered to show up to take Angel’s statement. So here’s the statement: Kathleen Graham was kidnapped, it was traumatic enough that Evangeline Graham tried to kill herself, and your department is speciesist trash.”

Nick shot a dirty look at White even as his stomach sank. “Does...does Kathleen go by Kit?”

“Yeah, sometimes, do you know her?”

“We met once,” he said faintly. “Just briefly. Come with me; I’ll get you to Missing Mammals and make  _ animally  _ sure that they send someone over to get Ms. Graham’s statement. We don’t want too much time to go by. The first day is crucial.”

Nick wouldn’t be able to get assigned to the case, even if he didn’t technically have any ties to Kit, because he wasn’t part of MM. And in the meantime, Judy was going to be  _ devastated. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, I slipped and made fun of something. I’m about to do it again next chapter. It’s not my fault everything in the world is so ridiculous.


	14. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick watches a movie, has an unpleasant episode, makes an evidence board, and gets naked, in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for an unpleasant OC. Sketchy Agent Katrina S. Castleberry leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but I can’t apologize for her just yet. It’s okay if you end up wanting to punch her face in. She’s not supposed to be likable. Basically her anthem is “Still Counting” by Volbeat. Also, I have about 2300 more words written right now, but this chapter is already over 10,000 so they’ll have to go into the next chapter.

The scene was sickening.

Nick watched on the screen as Judy, clad in all black and looking somehow  _more_ dangerous than she usually did, kicked Malcolm Coates’ knees hard enough to probably break them, which forced him to the pavement. She grabbed his ears to keep him upright and the camera caught his wail of pain, even over the long distance. The camera shook and a quiet voice whispered, “Oh my God. Oh  _fucking hell.”_

Nick, idly, was surprised at the odd curse. It was something most Mammalians didn’t use, unless they were  _really_ into overseas culture. Most of his brain, however, was focused on the violence a far-away bystander with a camera phone had managed to catch. Nick recognized the alley as one of the true blind spots in Zootopia; it looked like an unfortunate coincidence that Judy had been caught at all.

Judy whispered something and jerked him backwards with her fistful of long, soft ears before drawing out a custom Smith & Bunson and setting it at the back of his skull. Her movements were swift, precise, clinical. It was chilling to watch her at work. Was  _this_ what she had been trained to do in her extra year at the ZPA? Was  _this_ what she’d have to do were she to be drafted?

The scene was sickening, but Nick couldn’t look away.

His nausea increased as he watched Malcolm Coates’ skull  _shatter,_ blowing brain matter and bone shards every which way. His face would be unidentifiable, dental records would take a while to return, and notably, his ankle monitor was nowhere to be seen. It would be assumed that he was still at home, no doubt. It was a perfect execution, were it not for the bystander looking out of their apartment window, capturing the crime on camera.

The bunny in the alley – Nick could hardly reconcile her with the Judy he knew – flicked some organic matter off her clothing with a gloved paw and tapped her shoe-clad foot on the pavement before holstering her gun and sauntering out of the alleyway seemingly without a care in the world. Even her ears gave off no clues as to her mood, since they were tucked beneath a cap. There would be no evidence of her presence in the alley, and Nick would bet his left kidney that the gun she’d used was untraceable. The ammunition certainly hadn’t been standard.

“As you can see,” Victor Fangworthy began, “your partner has gone completely off the rails.”

“It – it does seem that way, Sir.” Nick grimaced. “Aren’t you tracking her phone or something?”

“The phone that was dismantled and dropped in a dumpster? Yes, we are. Hopps is in the wind; monitors gone, no check-in, no explanation. As you well know.”

Nick felt his hackles rise at the wolf’s tone. It was an obvious move for Judy to make; not even a rookie would do something as stupid as keep a cell phone on them. He shouldn’t have asked the question, but he wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t believe that Judy would  _go through with this._ It was one thing to acknowledge the hypothetical risks of the job she was taking on, but another thing altogether to see it. She’d just executed a living, breathing mammal. A living, breathing mammal she had an  _animal_ grudge against.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t understand. She was supposed to be starting at a new job two nights ago, not...becoming some sick kind of vigilante. Maybe she’s having some kind of psychotic break. She  _has_ been seeing a therapist…”

“Do not insult my intelligence, Wilde. As her live-in partner and friend, you know her best, and if anyone knows anything, it’s you. Tell us what you know.”

So this was the reason Nick was trapped in the briefing room surrounded by surly officers and MBI agents. He hadn’t been panicked before, but he was suddenly intensely aware of the danger he was in. One wrong move, one wrong word, and they’d circle like sharks with the scent of blood. Of all the mammals in the room, Nick could rely on Wolford to have his back, Heather to be a skeptical jerk, Bogo to show solidarity with his officers against the MBI even if he had private doubts, and Castleberry to...be a wild card. It was possible that she would side with Fangworthy. It was also possible that she could surprise them all and reveal herself as some kind of mastermind. He knew nothing about her.

“I don’t know anything,” he said, the discomfort working him into actual anger. “She didn’t come back, but I just figured she got held up at work. She didn’t even tell me what she was going to be doing, which...should have been a red flag, but I’m used to  _trusting_ her. Partners trust each other. Partners are honest with each other. Partners tell each other if they’re going to do something stupid and dangerous and illegal, because – because partners care about each other!”

“For the record,” said Wolford at what amounted to a snarl, “Wilde has my complete trust. I’ve watched him beat the odds and become an exemplary officer. If he says he doesn’t know anything, I’m inclined to believe him.”

Nick gave Fangworthy a pointed look. “See? What Judy’s doing is illegal, so now it’s our job to bring her in. Why are you wasting time questioning cops when she could be out there killing somebody else? Do you know  _how many_ mammals we brought in who aren’t in jail anymore?”

“Your supervisor might trust you, but I don’t know you, Detective Wilde. All I know is that you are a good liar.”

“Yeah, sure, because lying about murder is totally something I’d do.”

“If you want to maintain your innocence, I can hook you up to a polygraph,” said Fangworthy, and yeah, okay, this was getting entirely too silly for words.

Not that he’d run out of them, of course. He grinned widely, a hint of mania creeping into his expression. He could feel it. “Oh, you’ve made one that works? No? You know those are comically easy to spoof, right? Hook my ex-partner up to one and the second she hears a stomach settle with those big ears of hers, you’ll think she’s lying to you. You know bunnies, always hypervigilant. Do you know how to make traditional mole? I do, and I like to imagine it when I can’t sleep. Or when my heart’s beating a little too fast due to irregularly high caffeine intake and I'm sweating and distressed, because I'm getting older. But  _by all means,_ Director, hook me up. Right here and now. Ask me questions. If you’re confident that it’s foolproof, you’ll know that I’m not lying to you when I say I have  _no rutting clue_ what Judy Hopps thinks she’s doing and I want to ask her more than you have ever wanted anything in your entire life. The first thing I’m going to do is hug her, the second thing I’m going to do is slap the cuffs on her, and summer winds help the mammal who gets in my way.”

Heather snarled. “And you think we’re going to take the word of a former con artist who somehow slimed his way into the ZPD?”

“Of course not.” While Heather was busy being confused, Nick addressed the room at large. “None of you are going to believe me. You’re going to pretend to. Right now you’ve got mammals bugging my apartment and one of your goons is probably doing the same to my phone. Then you’re going to send me home with some trite conciliatory words and wait for Judy to contact me. You’ll wait longer and longer because she won’t contact me. She’s too smart to risk it. And in the meantime, while you’re watching me, she’ll keep killing mammals under your stupid noses. So let me tell you what I’m going to do tonight. I’m going to go home and watch bondage porn and jerk off and then I’ll probably cry like a kit because my partner, sorry,  _ex-_ partner, isn’t there to tie me up and beat me. She left me. You think  _you_ feel betrayed? She left me. Send me home or keep me in the cells, it doesn’t matter. Judy recruited me,  _healed_ me, made me think I was someone worthwhile. Then she left me to go abandon everything we stand for and kill someone. If there were any doubt that she never loved me at all, this is your proof.”

And it would have been, too, had they not talked about this contingency. They had selected Malcolm Coates as the best candidate for a semi-public murder should Mr. Big ever doubt her loyalty; it would fit nicely with her hero complex, Mr. Big would be pleased at the step forward, and the ZPD would remember him as the piece of scat who tried to rape one of their own, so subconsciously they would be more forgiving. Nick had known it was coming, too, though he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. Kit Graham was missing-presumed-dead and Evangeline was so traumatized by  _something_ that she had been hospitalized for her own safety. Judy had an animal stake in that case, and she would know the likelihood of anybody investigating it right away; she would need Mr. Big’s resources to find her friend. She was going to feel wretched after this, but at least Coates had deserved to die.

As Bogo looked suspiciously at Fangworthy, who looked very uncomfortable, Nick wondered who Judy had paid to take the video and send it in. She knew every blind spot in the city, but there was nothing anyone could do about a random citizen just  _happening_ to be in the right place at the right time.

He made a mental note to book a room at the Hollow Tree and send the details to her burner phone.

“Anyway,” he said, focusing on Castleberry who thus far had only expressed amusement, “I blame you. Take an unstable individual and shove a gun in her paw while instructing her to infiltrate the  _mob –_ and yeah, I figured out your little operation, as will anyone who has a brain – and you get what you get. We were working through it...the depression, the PTSD, the  _years_ of bullying and affable speciesism that mammals like  _you_ put her through. Were you surprised that she double-crossed you after you hurt her,  _Katie?_ I’m not. And I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that she double-crossed me. You broke her. She probably never loved me because of what you did.”

He was probably laying it on a bit thick, but shouting at Castleberry was cathartic. Nick had no idea what their specific history was, but he knew that Castleberry  _had_ hurt her in some way. His history with Judy helped him guess, though. Judy loved hard and fast, and Katie Castleberry was gorgeous with a very convincing mask of sensuality and adventurousness.

“Like you can talk,” Castleberry said hotly. “Even after I warned her off liars and cheaters, she trusted you, and what did you do just days after meeting her? Assaulted her on live television and abandoned her. You played on her kind nature and used her to advance in society. You even had her convinced that you loved her. But at the first sign of trouble, you’re turning on her. I may not know why it looks like she killed that hare, but unlike you,  _I_ believe in Judy Hopps. She knew what she was getting into when we worked together. You, though...you’re despicable.”

 _There_ it was. Nick had known Judy was working with  _someone_ in the MBI; now he was fairly certain it was the unpleasant ocelot in the elegant suit. He had assumed it would be someone high up in the hierarchy, someone on her small team. He wondered what kind of position Castleberry  _held,_ if it meant she could authorize an actual  _assassination._ That was illegal. Even undercover agents weren’t allowed to murder for credibility.

What kind of protection was being offered, here? Was Judy on the mark in a more literal way when she worried that she was going to disappear? What would happen to  _Nick?_ More importantly, what would happen to Nick-and-Judy as a unit?

“Do not let your feelings get in the way of your job, Agent,” warned Fangworthy.

“My feelings have nothing to do with it, Sir,” Castleberry replied. “We have a history. If I know anything at all about her, I know that she wants to do the right thing. That’s all. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a team to brief and an  _innocent bunny_ to catch.”

“She’s not innocent,” Nick said quietly.

Castleberry, who’d been halfway out the door, went very,  _very_ still, and suddenly, Nick could see how she had become a powerful agent of the government. The danger she presented affected him practically on a molecular level. “What did you say?”

He didn’t have to feign his fear. This was a mammal who could, and would, rip him apart. They were identical in height and she was slighter than he was, but he  _knew._ She would spare him no mercy were they to clash, and Nick couldn’t say the same for himself. But he had to push through, because he had promised Judy he would put himself first, and Nick Wilde kept his promises. “She’s not innocent. She killed someone. In cold blood,  _on camera,_ she killed someone.”

“You’re right. She appears to have killed someone. Was it real? Who knows? The camera is too far away to tell us who, or  _what,_ the body was, and there is no trace of any organic matter in that alley. The only evidence that she was even there is a shaky phone recording sent in anonymously. There is no body, so until we have more details, we have to assume there is no  _crime.”_

“That’s not the way it works!”

“Maybe not in your little world,” she said snidely, “but in  _my_ world – the world of espionage, where we actually get shit  _done –_ we have to look beneath the surface. Perhaps you don’t understand that because underneath the surface of Nick Wilde, there is only a quiet, seething chaos that should have driven my Judy away a long time ago.”

And there was that funny cursing again. It probably wouldn’t be immediately apparent to anyone who wasn’t an outsider, but Nick was about 75% sure Castleberry had been the one to send in the video.

“I’m not putting you on this team, Wilde,” said Fangworthy after a moment.

“But Sir-”

“I don’t trust you. I will probably never trust you. Prove your value to me, and  _maybe_ I’ll consider adding you to the team. If I find any trace of communication, or I find out that you have been investigating without permission, I will  _end you._ You won’t even manage parking duty.”

“C’mon, Wilde,” said Wolford gruffly, gripping Nick’s upper arm and hoisting him out of the chair. Nick spared a glance at the thumbnail on the screen – Judy, with her gun to Coates’ head – and shuddered before following the Lieutenant out of the briefing room.

* * *

As news of Judy’s indiscretion spread, the station seemed tenser. Nick felt eyes on him, although he couldn’t pinpoint whose eyes they were and he couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t keeping any secrets that were unknown to the important parties, but he was keeping secrets he shouldn’t know. He was keeping secrets that could ruin the whole operation. He understood what Castleberry had meant when she’d told Judy that sometimes the best way to keep loved ones safe was to keep the truth from them; part of him resented the overwhelming weight of, essentially, double-crossing the Mammalian government. Most of him was grateful for the trust and respect Judy had willingly given him. In the end, keeping secrets was better than not knowing what kind of danger he and Judy were both in.

In the end, if they hadn’t communicated, Nick would have gleefully hunted her down. He would have really believed the words he’d said in the briefing room: Judy had never loved him. His dark, ugly anger would have been directed at her. And if they had been forced into a conflict situation, he probably would have shot her down with no regrets. Even if they’d gotten through it without fighting face-to-face, their relationship would have been ruined forever; he would never have trusted her again. He would never have taken her back, no matter how she explained herself.

The realities of their situation hit him fully, and he began to shake. Thankfully, he was sitting behind his desk, because otherwise, he probably would have collapsed. He was not going to cry. He was not going to throw things. He was not going to break down like a little kit. But he couldn’t help that his breaths were getting shorter, that he was getting lightheaded, that the world was for some reason tipping sideways.

 _“What an honor for me,”_ said Jack Savage.

The ocelot collapsed and bled out in the tunnelway.

Judy shifted into something cold, calculating,  _frightening,_ and barked orders, which Nick followed without a thought. The little doe in the back room hugged him and said that Judy was scary, and she wasn’t wrong.

He curled up in a crevice in the tunnelway, wishing he could disappear, hoping beyond hope that Mr. Big’s bears – or worse, one of his assets – wouldn’t find him. He was freezing and starving and hadn’t slept in days. Something was going to have to give, or he’d die, and maybe dying was  _worth_ it, maybe he’d finally get some  _peace._

He spread out next to the other panhandlers, promising them that if they pooled their money he could return with more, just because the counterfeit bills were burning a dangerous hole through his pocket. Most of the homeless mammals in the area were maltreated veterans; they could take care of themselves, he reasoned, and anyway nobody looked for signs of counterfeit with small bills. Nobody was  _really_ going to get hurt, and if they did, that was what they got for being stupid enough to trust a shifty fox with a fake name and a pretty face.

The cold coming from the ice pit made his toes twitch, but the bunny officer beside him didn’t seem uncomfortable, didn’t even hesitate to threaten a  _crime boss_ even though she was outnumbered and outgunned, and Nick was  _useless dead weight_ but there was nothing he could do but wait for death by hypothermia-induced drowning in a dark hole, and nobody would ever find him and Officer Hopps would be remembered as the failure who disappeared on her first case, and for some reason that was worse than just dying on his own because she had actually fought for something, the idiot.

He slammed the door behind him, angrier than he’d ever been in his entire twelve years of life. Ruth was a horrible mammal and a bad mother who would only hold him back. Sure, prey were stupid and weak like she said, and that made them mean, but they were still exploitable, and there were more of them, and he wasn’t going to let that muzzling incident ruin his life and prospects because he was  _better_ than she was. He was smarter. She was washed up and scared, and he was going to do better than hide and survive.

Judy quietly flicked her wrist and cracked the riding crop against Kit’s thighs, making her cry out, and Nick didn’t acknowledge his subconscious craving for actual  _punishment_ for his crimes, for the harm he’d caused. He’d never ask her for that because then she would forgive him, and he didn’t deserve that enticing forgiveness that she so lovingly gave Kit, especially not from her.

She watched him cook and whispered,  _“I love you, Nick, more than anything else in the whole world,”_ and he pretended not to hear her because he didn’t understand it, there was no way she could love him, especially after she’d pretended to propose to him, he just wasn’t worth loving and and she’d know that because she knew almost everything about his past.

 _“I’m not gonna let you die, Kit,”_ Finnick told him, rolling his eyes and nudging him with a small foot.  _“I put too much effort into you to let it go to waste. Get up and eat this, you piece of scat.”_

Judy shot Coates in the back of the head, looking vaguely pleased with herself but mostly just professional. Nothing in her looked defeated. She looked like a real assassin, and he didn’t want to admit that some small part of her had probably taken pleasure in it because she was a perfectionist and she’d done well.

The world was fuzzy around the edges and he couldn’t breathe and he wasn’t tilting out of his chair, the world was tilting around him, bending like light around massive objects in spacetime, and he could taste his heart in his mouth, copper pennies and sugar and salt and tap water that simultaneously made him salivate and made him want to vomit. His chest went flat and his vision narrowed and he couldn’t feel his fingers or his lips or any part of his face at all, and there was sound but it was through a tube and didn’t make sense, and Judy was there but she also wasn’t there and he sniffed for her but it didn’t work because he couldn’t breathe and thin arms went around him from behind and he wanted to fight them off but couldn’t move and there was more bent sound, but he could feel breaths behind him and it helped him somehow, like the thing that wasn’t Judy was giving him air or permission to breathe, and the sound un-bent enough for not-Judy’s words to reach his brain.

 _“Breathe, Nick. Come on. Do it for Jude. She’ll probably swoop in, try to save you, and get herself arrested if she hears that you hurt yourself because of her._ Fuck off, you pricks, there’s nothing to see here. Don’t you have work to do?”

It smelled like Judy, but also like clean clothes and a faint floral scent that didn’t do much to cover the scent of cat. He recognized it...right? This was someone he knew.

“Good. That’s good. Keep breathing.”

“D-don’t touch me,” he managed.

The mammal snorted. “This is the thanks I get for taking valuable time out of my day to calm down some hysterical idiot who can’t handle reality?”

It was Katie Castleberry. He still couldn’t really feel his extremities or his face, but at least he could move enough to shrug her off of him. He wasn’t up to moving his tongue again, though. She came around to crouch in front of him and he realized that somehow, he’d ended up on the floor. Had he lost time? He didn’t know.

“I need you to come with me,” she said quietly. “Can you stand?”

Nick shrugged, genuinely unsure. She frowned, reached forward, and tugged on his arm to help him up. He stumbled, but otherwise kept his feet. Still somewhat disconnected from his own body, Nick followed numbly after her, unable to focus on the important questions. What were they? Something about Judy, probably. It was hard to think. It was still a little hard to  _see._ He had an inkling that he had hyperventilated or something, which hadn’t happened in a long time. Long enough that he had forgotten how to deal with it.

They reached a private office and Castleberry closed the door, opened a mini-fridge, and gave him a bottle of water. He stared at it, uncomprehending, until she took it from him, guided him to a chair, uncapped the bottle, and said, “Drink. You’re no good to anybody like this.”

He did as commanded. Though the shakes persisted, Nick felt parts of him return to their rightful places, and he regained some feeling in his extremities. Once he was taking deep breaths on his own, Castleberry sat on the corner of her desk and told him, “I honestly didn’t expect that from you. My Judy makes you out to be this invincible, amazing creature, but all I see is a weakling who doesn’t really have the strength to do what needs to be done.”

He stared at her.

“I don’t  _get it,”_ she added venomously. “What does she see in you?”

It was almost absurd. “Are you...jealous of me?”

“In order for me to be jealous, you’d have to be a threat. You can’t understand her like I can, and I was here  _first._ But that’s not why I don’t get it. The last thing we ever talked about, before her training was done, was that predators aren’t trustworthy. I told her that it’s in our nature to be violent. But she trusted you to help her bring down a terrorist. She invested time and energy into you. Why? You’re just a fox. Like the one who scarred her.”

“You told her it’s in our nature to be violent,” Nick forced out, dipping into the apathy he had once been able to bring up at a moment’s notice. “Why would you do that? You and Fangworthy-”

“Are predators, yes. He and I were both groomed for years to be the type of mammal who can rip your guts out and make you eat them, and I never feel guilty about the things I’ve done. I’m a natural-born killer, and so are you. That’s what makes us  _better_ than prey, at least the ones we don’t push out of indolent mediocrity like I did with Jude. At least my kind never caged hers and traded food and favors for a chance to pet – or fuck, I guess, I know that was a popular story once upon a time, and I’m inclined to believe it – a chance to pet a cute little creature too dumb to defend itself.”

“We are evolved mammals, not savages. If you’re a psychopath, that’s not my problem, and you shouldn’t have made it Judy’s problem either. I don’t know why she trusted me before she betrayed us. I didn’t deserve it, after treating her the way I did. If I had to hazard a guess, she was trying to prove you  _wrong,_ and she came back to me because she  _wanted_ me to be good more than she wanted to keep herself safe.” It felt bitter in his mouth, but it seemed like a thing Judy would do. She was funny about proving animals wrong. Then again, Nick suspected the truth was much simpler. “Or maybe your warning didn’t take because it was wrong and she knew it.”

Her mouth curled into an unhappy smile. “That’s what she said. Right before she left for the last time. But you proved me right, didn’t you?”

“Judy knows when she’s being played,” he said, unwilling to give into the game, “and so do I. What is this really about?”

She stretched, allowing the bottom of her blouse to ride up and expose her stomach. He didn’t take the bait, instead focusing on her paws. The problem with retractable claws was that you never knew when they were going to come out. “Fine. Spoilsport. It’s about your reaction to that video. You are a  _very_ good actor. You almost had me convinced that you were feeling ill. I  _do_ believe that you’re angry. What I  _don’t_ believe is that you think she really murdered that hare. You’re so codependent it’s sickening. Why are you not defending her?”

“Because that’s not how it works,” he said, echoing his earlier sentiments. “If she, randomly,  _decided_ to drag a fake body into a blind spot at the exact time that someone would manage to catch her on film, and she had some bizarre reason for doing so, then it would come out once we arrested her. But you know as well as I do that Malcolm Coates isn’t at home where his ankle monitor is. I know you all tapped her to infiltrate Mr. Big’s operation, but I doubt even you have the resources on paw to pull off a switch like that on such short notice. I believe that she murdered him, and I have to operate under that assumption until I’m shown evidence to the contrary.  _That’s_ how this works. Innocent until proven guilty in a court of law; guilty until proven otherwise in an investigation. Maybe your background in  _espionage_ made you forget that. Or maybe Fangworthy is right; maybe you’re too in love with her to be rational.”

“In love,” she said, sounding confused. “Where did you get that impression?”

He shrugged. “You claim her, even though she hasn’t given you permission. You broke her trust and hurt her, badly enough that she told me she never wanted to talk to you again, but you keep poking her. Frankly, although she’d never admit it, you’re her type, and you’re obsessive enough to try and talk me into believing she’s innocent of the murder we  _saw.”_

“You and I can’t love prey. We can hardly love at all,” she told him, and he got the impression that she really believed that. What a sad, lonely existence. “I trained her,  _Nick._ She’s my protégé. Mine. You can’t steal her from me, no matter how nauseatingly romantic you act. She’ll always come back to me because I can give her everything she really wants. I told her what she needed to hear. It was so easy to make her into the perfect weapon; dress it up as an obstacle course, with points and objectives, and she’ll forget she’s being trained to kill. She loves the thrill more than anything. She could never love  _you_ when her first and truest loves are hunting and pain.”

_“Pretty sneaky, Slick,” she cried, grinning. Gleeful. They’d just managed to escape an exploding drug lab and she was drunk on adrenaline. And that punch hurt more than a friendly one should have, but he didn’t mind, because she still liked him._

“I…”

_“Rip his rutting throat out.”_

_“I should have shot him where he stood.”_

_“I want to love my parents the way you see it on television,” she told him lightly, as though it didn’t matter either way. “But even though I act like I do, it’s kind of fake for me. There comes a point at which you have to choose yourself. They hurt me when they tried to hold me back. They told me I would never succeed. They didn’t want me to succeed. I don’t resent them, and I am grateful for what they gave me, but their opinions don’t matter. I’m where I want to be, and I did it without their support. But you’re welcome to come back to Bunnyburrow with me and meet them if you really want to. They’ll probably love you. Big, pointy predator willing to protect me from the scary, scary criminals in the big bad city? My dad will probably cry and ask you to marry me.”_

“You…”

_“I love you, Nick, more than anything else in the whole world.”_

“You’re right,” he said with conviction. He knew she wasn’t, though. He knew that Judy loved him. It was in the little things she did, the way she was blunt with him even when it hurt, the way she looked at him when she thought he didn’t notice. In the way she sneaked glances and never pushed him to do anything he wasn’t ready for even though she so obviously wanted him. In the way she had fought for him time and time again, even on occasions he would never have found out about except through the grapevine. In the way she said it like fact: he was worthy of her love. That was why he had to do everything he could to protect them both. Even if it meant lying to the one mammal who had the power to shatter Judy’s safety like the bullet had shattered Coates’ skull. “She does love fighting more than she loves me. I’m not enough for her. If I were, she wouldn’t have gone to Kit’s place to spank her even though I was available, and she would have been honest with me. But I do love her, Agent Castleberry. You may not be able to love, and if that’s the case, I pity you. But I’ve been in love with Judy since before I understood what love meant. If I didn’t love her, this betrayal wouldn’t hurt so goddamn much.”

“I believe that you believe that,” she said wonderingly, “but that’s foxes for you. You’re insane. We can use that. If you are really committed to getting the love of your life back…”

“Not committed enough to go against Director Fangworthy. He told me I’m not allowed to investigate, and I’m not going to mess up my chances of getting a spot on the team by working with you against the ZPD’s and the MBI’s best interests.”

She waved her paw. “You let me worry about Victor. This time tomorrow, he’ll be begging you to team up. In the meantime, are you going to be okay, or am I going to have to pull you out of another pathetic panic attack?”

“Glad to see MBI agents remember their sensitivity training.” Nick rolled his eyes and stood. “I’ll be fine. If nothing else, your stupid ranting was great for getting me re-focused. I’m going to go work on my  _actual_ cases. Unlike you, I actually care what happens to my city.”

He walked out, feeling more confident than he had in a while. Castleberry may have been trying to unnerve him, but she had only strengthened his convictions.

* * *

It hadn’t been difficult to do as advertised and jerk off to loud bondage porn; he was angry, he was oddly pent-up, and imagining Judy in the domme’s place was easy enough. Being together and knowing her kinks for almost three months had slowly introduced him to the idea of being dominated by her, and he sort of...wanted to try some things. Maybe not all the things she liked. Maybe not most of the things she liked. Nick liked to make her happy, and he imagined they’d have time to explore once all of this was finished. Selling the bit was part of that, and although he didn’t get much out of porn itself, he got a hell of a lot out of the idea of pulling one over on whoever was listening in. The overly-theatrical video was incidental to the point. And, well, if nobody was listening in, then at least he was a little more relaxed, so there was that.

But it was time to work now. His sheets were in the laundry and in order to sell himself as a clueless workaholic who missed his partner, Nick set up a good old-fashioned evidence board in his living room. The board was almost complete; all he had to do was set up a few more pieces of information.

The two wolves, who didn’t have names yet (although the tech team was working on it), were definitely affiliated in some capacity with the mammal trafficking ring that the vice department had been investigating. They seemed to be hired muscle and seasoned abductors; until Beatrice Stripely’s case, they had only been shown to target specific mammals that had shown up later as forced sex workers, but now, the department needed to re-think the assumed exclusivity. What had happened to Beatrice was still vague, but the tech team had traced her phone to a low-income suburb in the Rainforest District. Wolford was working with the DA to get a deal ready while beat officers did leg-work to find the mammal sending text messages to Gilly’s agency.

Mr. Big was the most likely candidate for the “big player” that Beth had mentioned in her statement, and although eyewitness testimony was some of the most unreliable evidence in a court of law, it was solid enough to provide leads. Beth had described the two wolves in disturbingly accurate detail without looking at any photos of suspects, so Nick was reasonably sure that they weren’t on a wild goose chase. What they  _did_ know was that the two wolves did not work for the “big player,” because otherwise, she wouldn’t have mentioned her loan. Whoever she had previously owed money to had clearly not expected her to go to someone else, if they were trying to collect on a debt that had already been paid via her loan...but on the other paw, what was the purpose of indebting herself to a third party just to get out of debt? Was the initial creditor so dangerous that the biggest, baddest crime boss in Zootopia’s history was a  _safer_ option, or was she somehow animally associated with Mr. Big’s operation?

It was too bad Judy was effectively out of the game, because her connections would be invaluable. If he got her help, though, he would have to explain where his leads had come from, and that was no good. He had to do it on his own, with the ZPD’s resources and the help of his current team. And somehow...that was exciting. Beyond the fear and frustration with the Big situation, Nick felt hopeful, something he didn’t have a lot of experience with. Judy believed that he could be a good cop without her. His colleagues did, too. He had leaned on her as a crutch, worried that she was the  _real_ cop and he was just a tagalong, but working without her wasn’t harder than working with her. It was just lonelier.

Once, during the beginning stages of his partnership with Judy, Bogo had called Nick into his office and told him that he was her leash. Nick had laughed, because if someone tried to put Judy on a leash she’d probably just find a way to use it as a weapon, but Bogo had been serious. Maybe that piece of advice had been worth more consideration than Nick had given it, because over the past five years, Nick had played the straight mammal more often than not. He liked to follow Judy’s orders, but that gave her direction and motive to be careful. She was overall sharper and more likely to control herself when she had someone else’s safety to consider. And maybe Castleberry, as irritating as she was, had been right: he and Judy were codependent. But they didn’t have to be. Nick would solve his case, Judy would solve hers, and they would take their next steps as two equals, rather than one unit glued together.

Was this what self-esteem felt like? He kind of liked it.

Nick tacked a photo of Beatrice onto the board in the “unknown” category. It was possible that she had, at one point, been part of the trafficking ring. Perhaps she had been taken because of her connections. She might have been kicked out once she’d had a child, although that was highly unlikely. Sex workers didn’t tend to work within their own species because it was impossible to become pregnant with a cross-species partner; operations that forced mammals to do sex work used the same guidelines, generally. Even if they didn’t, it was far more likely that they would abort the fetus before it ever became a child, and therefore, a problem for the operation. The identity of Beth’s father was still unconfirmed, although Appleton  _had_ authorized a DNA swab for cross-referencing purposes when Beth had spoken to Wolford.

What they  _did_ know about Beatrice was simple: ten years ago, she’d been married to a male named Wesley Flamme, who had died about six months before Beatrice had given birth to Beth. She had become addicted to injectable drugs sometime before she’d signed on with the agency, but she was clean now. She kept to herself, always paid her rent on time, and had the capacity to be quite firm, though she tended to scare easily when her daughter was involved. She had been missing for about a week.

In other words, she was unremarkable. Profiling her wasn’t going to do any good, not that profiling did much good in other cases. It was mostly just a gimmick to spice up otherwise boring television shows.

“Where are you,” he murmured, looking at Beatrice’s photo. He couldn’t help but look at all of his cases like missing mammals cases; the format was malleable. Beatrice was missing and he needed to find her. The overarching case belong to the vice department would probably be helped by finding her, but –

His burner phone, which he kept strapped to his calf under his pants at all times except when he needed to charge it, vibrated. He stretched, grabbed a book off the shelf, and headed into the bathroom. It was easy enough to take the phone out of the homemade holster when he pulled down his pants, and he hid it in his book. It was probably overkill; there were some things that he’d never shake, including street-induced paranoia, but in the unlikely event that the MBI was watching him use the  _toilet,_ the phone would be hidden.

_10\. MSO. Wear sth nice._

Nick rolled his eyes and deleted the text. Did she always have to be so dramatic about everything? It would have worked just as well to tell him where and when she wanted to meet. It would have been hard to get away, had she not picked the perfect place...then again, she was sharp like that.

The Mystic Springs Oasis had always been a point of contention between them, less because of their contrasting views about nudity and more because it was fun to be contrary about something that didn’t matter. He was about as invested in maintaining a membership there as he was in the Arcadia lobster trade. Judy was about as resistant to it as she was to teaching kits how to read. But Nick had faithfully paid his dues every quarter just to rile her up, and she’d faithfully gotten riled up every quarter just to make him laugh.

Not so publicly, Judy sometimes went with him. In retrospect, stripping down with him in a private steam room and only being mildly uncomfortable should have told him something about her feelings; for some reason, although bunnies tended to be far more pragmatic about sexual exploration and compatibility than foxes, they had illogical rules about nakedness.  _Don’t buy the truck without taking it on a test drive, but don’t go digging under the hood until you’ve paid for it in full._ It didn’t make much sense to  _him,_ but it did explain how she could talk sex without blinking but still be uncomfortable looking at other mammals at the Oasis.

He would meet her in a private room, most likely. Mystic Springs had steam rooms, massage rooms, and tea rooms as well as a few suites for mammals who came from out of town. It wasn’t likely that anyone would follow Nick in, and Yax was surprisingly stern about not allowing cameras inside the facility under any circumstances; Nick and Judy would be safe to meet there as long as they didn’t get noticed by others.

He had a bit of time to consider the Beatrice case, but then, he’d go put in a couple of hours at the naturalist club...something he’d been doing for years. To anyone else, it would look absolutely normal.

* * *

Half the reason Nick had bothered with the Mystic Springs Oasis in the first place was the sense that nothing mattered. Drop your worries at the door. Leave your problems in the car. It was the least dangerous place in Zootopia because  _everyone_ was so un-self-consciously vulnerable. Nick didn’t have to hide anything because in the little pocket universe Yax had created, there was nothing to hide. Irrespective of the state of dress, nothing could hurt him there, except maybe a cracked stone or unusually careless megafauna. It wasn’t the nudity he had come to enjoy during his days on the street; it was the safety.

Just walking through the door left Nick a little less likely to hunch his shoulders and back into a corner.

“Hey, Yax,” he said, flashing his pass at the desk.

“Oh, hey, Nick. Didn’t expect you back for another two days.”

And that was the other thing. Yax had the best memory and attention to detail of everyone Nick knew, and Judy was smart enough to hide herself. If anyone asked, Nick had come to the spa, and he had come alone.

“I’m just not up to staying at home tonight,” Nick told him, and that was the truth at least.

“Bunny’s not available?”

“Bunny’s in  _trouble,”_ he said grimly. “We’re not partners anymore. Or friends, for that matter. Do you have a room free? I need to be alone somewhere I can’t smell her.”

“Not tonight. Sorry,” said Yax, looking sympathetic. “Got a steam room open, though. Room C. I can give you an out of order sign for a little while.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Nick took the sign from Yax and added, “Thanks. I need a break.”

“That’s why everybody comes here,” was the reply. “The world’s too crazy.”

He wasn’t wrong. Nick headed into the back, glad it was late rather than early. During the day, animals took yoga classes, had meditation circles, and generally got their exercise in, but at night, everyone was calmer. He spotted a jaguar lazily draped across a branch and tried not to grin. Some mammals just  _had_ to try to be ancestral. Nick would have made a covert bet with Judy about the jaguar’s chances of actually sleeping there without falling off, but...things were different.

He stripped down quickly, put his clothes in a locker, dropped a quarter in the slot, and pulled the squishy keyring around his wrist before letting himself into his steam room. The “out of order” sign was easy enough to hang around the knob, and now, all he had to do was wait. He was fairly certain that she was already in the facility.

Sure enough, only a minute or so had passed when the door opened and a bunny slipped inside. It was obvious enough to him that it was Judy, but to someone who  _hadn’t_ spent years memorizing her scent and appearance, she would be unrecognizable. Her fur was muted brown, her eyes were ice blue, and her scut was more tan than white. She held herself differently, too; she looked relaxed and almost lazy.

“Hi,” she said quietly. The door swung shut and she locked it from the inside. “I’m sorry I didn’t – I’m sorry.”

“For doing what we planned for?”

“For not telling you first.” She sat next to him, as closely as she could without actually touching him. She looked at her paws instead of at Nick. “I wanted to. I just didn’t know I was going to do it until I realized I had to. I heard some of his underlings talking, saying I wasn’t trustworthy, that I wouldn’t be able to do what needed to be done. If that kind of talk reached Paul...he’d either be even more suspicious of me or be upset with them. I didn’t know which, so I took the risk. I asked Paul for permission to finish the job he gave me last summer, and spent almost the whole day making arrangements. I was either with Katie or with Koslov, so I didn’t have time to text, and then I...I thought it would probably satisfy whoever might be planted in the ZPD to see your real reaction. I can’t let  _anybody_ on this side know that you know anything. That would make you a liability.”

“Well, you’ll be happy to know I had a mini panic attack,” he said tartly, because apparently he still wasn’t above being petty.

Her ears wilted. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I...I knew it was a possibility. It’s not your fault, it’s ours. If we wanted complete transparency we should have turned on Mr. Big as soon as Bellwether was in custody.” He frowned. “It’s been a bad day and I’m on edge. How are  _you?”_

Judy shifted a bit. She moved her paw, as though she wanted to touch him, but then put it back into her lap. Nick took the initiative and put his arm around her shoulders, because – as he’d come to learn – Judy needed physical contact in order to be okay, and he didn’t mind holding her. This made her relax into something more natural. “I think I’m okay. I don’t like killing, Nick. I hate it. I didn’t even like shooting our terrorist in the Bayou and he was about to blow everything up. I hate having to make that decision, who lives and who dies. And I  _hate_ that I’m good at it. If I weren’t…”

“If you weren’t, you’d never have become a police officer,” he reminded her, almost at a whisper. “They financed you because you were good, not the other way around.”

“They financed me because I  _could_ be good. I wasn’t special when they got hold of me. Their financing freed me up to focus on the academy, but I wasn’t the officer I am today, or even the mammal I was my first day on the job. I was close to washing out. They took a chance on me and it worked out. But maybe if I had-”

“Don’t. What if I had decided to become a software engineer? I didn’t. What we chose led us to where we are today. Things might be hard right now, but I like to think our lives are pretty great otherwise.”

“I don’t know,” she told him miserably. “I love you so much and I can’t imagine my life without you, and I love being a cop. But my whole life has been purpose-driven. I knew I wanted to be a cop at eight, and before that I told everyone who would listen that I was going to be a circus performer. I have goals and I meet them, and then I make new goals, but this changes everything. Now my goal is to keep us both alive and safe...but after? Everything I worked for is gone. I killed Mal Coates, Nick. It was in my function as an undercover operative, and I have guaranteed immunity so long as I get the job done according to the agreement Katie set up for me, but everybody saw that video. No amount of explaining after the fact will convince anybody that I’m trustworthy. They’re going to assume that I’m capable of exactly what I  _am_ capable of, and they’re going to think that I’ve been forgiven so that the sketchy side of the Justice Department can have loyal ears on the inside. I can’t go back to the ZPD.”

“You would be surprised at how many of our colleagues believe in you,” he soothed, though she was right. There were too many who had already stamped GUILTY on her forehead, and even those who hadn’t condemned her didn’t seem inclined to defend her like Castleberry had. “Though I  _am_ a little concerned about Fangworthy. He sounded...real. Like he hadn’t expected you to kill anyone.”

She shrugged, jumped up, and began to pace. “He didn’t expect it. We knew it was a possibility that I might have to go off-script, and he would have to be kept in the dark for the purposes of plausible deniability, but I don’t think he thought I would really do it.”

“Castleberry told me…” He took a deep breath and let it out before standing and putting his paws on her shoulders, hoping to stop her from getting too worked up. “She said that she turned you into a perfect weapon. I can’t imagine that Fangworthy would underestimate the  _perfect weapon.”_

She looked down and grabbed his paws, as much for support as for intimacy, he suspected. “He didn’t know that she was trying to use me for her own ends. Katie and I...I was so  _stupid,_ I thought she cared about me. I thought that it was so cool that I got to work with her. She was – is – the best. If something unpleasant needs doing, you call in the Ocelot.  _The_ Ocelot, not _an_ ocelot. She wanted me to be one of her successors, and I knew on some level what that would entail, but it was all so thrilling. She’s the reason I could stare down a crime boss with no fear but couldn’t tell the difference between a serious threat and proving a point at that press conference. She’s the reason I can kill someone without looking like it’s  _ripping_ me on the inside. But the thing about Katie is...she doesn’t have loyalty to anyone in particular, and she’s a pathological liar. You can’t trust a word that comes out of her mouth unless it’s official. She works for Victor because she might as well, and she does really bad things, the kinds of things our government doesn’t want us to know about, because she just likes doing them. She always said I had a choice. That I didn’t have to join her in her jobs if I didn’t want to, but she was going to train me for it anyway because she  _loved_ me. If she’d managed to hold up the façade for a little longer, who knows where my life would have gone. It was all a scam, but I believed it at the time. I always trust the wrong mammals. Victor, Katie, my parents, Chief Bogo,  _Dawn Bellwether._ You’re the first one I’ve ever gotten right.”

Nick sank to his knees at her feet and rested his cheek against her chest. She was shaking, obviously holding back tears. As Castleberry had discovered, Judy was  _so easy_ to take advantage of, because she wanted so badly to see good in everyone. Most mammals didn’t have much good in them to begin with, though, so she was constantly disappointed. How she hadn’t given up was a mystery to him. He’d given up with far less evidence of the inherent ugliness of mammality. Eventually, something would have to give, because her optimism had long ago turned self-destructive. He just hadn’t seen it until now.

“I told them – I said you weren’t innocent. They believe that I believe your actions were unjustified and unsanctioned. They believe that I feel betrayed and sickened by you. But I don’t. No matter what you hear, just remember that I  _don’t_ think that. I’ve seen inside of you. I know what you’re capable of. And you know what? I chose to give myself to you anyway. I chose to keep up the action of loving you when I could have walked away, because you’re important to me. I chose  _you._ Just say the word and we’ll run, Judy. We’ll run and we’ll never look back and you’ll never have to kill anyone ever again.”

“I would never do that to you,” she told him, caressing the headfur between his ears. “One of the things I love most about you is your love for Zootopia. You try to hide it, but I’ve seen inside of you, too. You love this city and the mammals in it. You want to do right by them. This is your  _home,_ Nick. I’ll be fine; I always pick myself up, and this time it will be easier because you’ll be there with me. We’ll get through this. I might lose everything, but...I’ll figure it out.”

“You always manage to amaze me. Even when I don’t want to be impressed.”

“Well get ready for a little more, because I have information for you.”

He picked his head up and met her eyes. They were bright and shiny, but the rest of her was solid again. “Information?”

“Yeah. About your case. I can’t guarantee its veracity, but I’ve been looking into certain organizations that abduct mid-sized mammals, for reasons that ought to be painfully obvious.”

“Kit.”

“Yes, Kit. Paul has been on-edge about a circuit that just returned to Zootopia; the Big organization drove them out about nine years ago, but they’re back. Say what you want about him and I’ll probably agree with you, but the good news is, he has a zero-tolerance policy for mammal trafficking.” She affected a lazy, lisping accent and waved her paw vaguely. “It’s bad for business, Nicky.”

He snorted. How had she ever managed to get anyone to take her seriously without punching them first? “So you think this circuit is responsible?”

“For your Beatrice, probably. They turned out to be a dead end for Kit. I wouldn’t have put it together, if I hadn’t gotten to threaten middle management in my function as...well, an asset.” Neither of them acknowledged that in this business,  _threaten_ was equivalent to  _perform violent acts upon._ “I looked in your files before I left, and the guy in charge of acquisitions looks like Beth gained twenty years and got a sex change. If I were you, I’d look into the sperm donor. Beatrice was married, right?”

“Her ex-husband is dead.”

“So is Katie,” she told him, resting her forehead on his. “She’s been dead three times in the seven years I’ve known her, and  _yet.”_

He tried to shake his head without dislodging her, but it didn’t work very well, so he gave up. “Are you trying to say that Wesley Flamme  _faked his death?_ I thought we decided we weren’t in a bad spy movie. I specifically remember that conversation.”

“I’m saying that in law enforcement and organized crime, coincidences are as bad for business as rogue elements are. It’s unlikely that some no-name scumbag would have the motive, much less the  _means,_ to fake his death, even if he  _is_ working for Penny Lark and her merry band of traffickers. But pretending to be somebody he wasn’t so he could seduce some hot chick with a drug problem? That’s much more reasonable.”

“And they say romance is dead.”

“Romance never made it off the cutting-room floor.” She grinned shakily. “That’s what makes you so special.”

“You accusing me of being a romantic, Carrots?”

“Perish the thought.”

They smiled at each other, foreheads together, like a pair of idiots, and well, if that wasn’t romantic he didn’t know what was. But, like all good things, it had to end, and it looked like it was up to him to end it.

Reluctantly, he pulled away and asked, “Are you  _really_ going to be okay?”

He could see the lie forming in her brain, but thankfully, she decided that he deserved the truth. She still trusted him. They still had that. “Normally I wouldn’t, but I’m not alone. Koslov gave me some breathing exercises, I’m spending time with Fru, and I have you in my corner. Are  _you_ going to be okay?”

“We’ll both do what we have to,” he said. “After this, though, I want to spend time on a beach somewhere, drinking cloudberry vodka and sleeping all day. Care to join me, Agent Hopps?”

“More than anything,” she admitted, and pulled him close so that she could run her paws through his fur. He stayed kneeling in the steam room and sank into her presence until it was time to go.

“I’m going to have to wash a thousand times to get your scent off me,” he said, not really annoyed but trying to sound like it.

“Not if I have any say in it. Do you trust me?”

He gave her a look.

“Okay, yeah, that’s a dumb question. I have a plan.”

“What is it?”

“You’re going to tell Fangworthy I beat you up and told you to give him a message. If I know him, he’ll put you on his investigation team just so that he can have a reason to monitor you.”

He frowned. “Aren’t they already monitoring me?”

“They have to follow the laws, Nick,” she told him, still stroking his fur. “I was fair game because I was already part of their team. They’d have to arrange some pretty specific warrants to bug your place, and no Zootopian judge would go for that. And while they’re not squeamish about underpawed tactics, the last thing they want is for Paul to walk free because they came by information illegally. Anything they learned through illegal bugging…”

“...Wouldn’t be admitted into evidence. Damn. I was kind of hoping I freaked out some nosy mammals tonight.”

“What did you do,” she asked warily.

“Just moaned your name while watching this... _absurd_ bondage porn I found online. Oh my God, it was so bad. You could tell they were following...anyway, I told them I was going to go home and jerk off to bondage porn and cry.”

“Ooh, now I wish they  _had_ monitored you. Fangworthy’s about as straight-laced as you can get without strapping him into a papoose board. He can probably kill you with his little finger, but he’s weird about sex. If he’d heard or seen that, he wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye for  _days.”_ She huffed. “I wish we didn’t have to go our separate ways.”

“We’ll see each other soon. Though we’re going to have to come up with something a little more believable than that you beat me up. It’s going to be obvious that you…” He saw her settle into a sparring stance. “...Oh. Okay.”

“C’mon, Nick, it’ll be just like the ring, only this time we won’t be pulling our punches.”

His eyes widened and he backed up, suddenly very much  _not on board_ with the plan. “Wait, you pull your punches!?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not saying I’m proud of what I’m building here, but I’m not _not_ saying that either. On the one hand, I’m exhausted by the amount of effort I’ve put into the stupid details and making sure that my parody elements don’t target anything specific, but rather general tropes. On the other, I feel like my writing has improved somewhat since I started this, and that was the goal. The support that my readers have shown has just absolutely blown me away and I feel like this story, as contrived and silly as it is, has improved my life in unexpected ways.
> 
> Stay tuned for Nick kicking some asses, the ZPD doing something unexpected, a little more Beth, and some information coming to light that would have been helpful months ago.


	15. Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick chats with Director Fangworthy, Chief Bogo, and Beth Stripely. Agent Castleberry continues to be a week-old condom. Judy remains elusive and Clawhauser is clever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more with feeling: this story is a joke. I’m full-tilt making fun of the tropes I’ve used. This story puts our heroes in a familiar situation that gets more and more ridiculous as time goes on, and they know it’s ridiculous but it’s still terrifying them because they could die (or go to prison and die in there), and they’re one blow to the head away from breaking the 4th wall at this point. Normally I wouldn’t bother stating such, but there are a few instances of this out there in the big wide world that...uh...I don’t want my bad name associated with. You know. “Dark and gritty” reboots of comic books we used to love, certain works of written fiction, bad spy movies. Far be it from me to call someone else’s work terrible, because I’d be a hypocrite. I have no idea what I’m doing even now that I’ve taken a real English class. I’m just saying this idea is terrible and deserves ridicule. Kthx.

Nick made a mental note to do something nice for Yax when this was all over. The poor guy was visibly distressed, having had his sanctuary invaded by a bunch of noisy, insensitive cops because Nick had refused to call an ambulance for himself, instead dragging himself to his locker and dialing the station. Timing was important on this one, and Judy hadn’t hit him _that_ hard. It just looked bad. He was wrapped in a bathrobe, sitting on the bench just outside the steam room. A CSI team was already scrubbing the area for evidence, but Nick thought it was a wasted effort. After all, Judy had _aimed_ to make a fuss. The few others in the Oasis were standing to the side looking curiously at Nick and at the scene. It pleased Nick to know that even during an obvious investigation, the hardcore naturalists didn’t care about making law enforcement uncomfortable.

“Got your tail trashed by a cute little bunny. Smooth,” joked an agent whose name Nick hadn’t bothered to get yet. Apparently, the agent didn’t know Nick very well either.

“You laugh now,” he snipped, holding a bag of ice to his eye. “You’ve obviously never met Hopps, or you’d be asking why it isn’t worse.”

“Why _isn’t_ it worse,” asked Fangworthy from the side. Nick’s nose had stopped bleeding, but it was still hard to smell what was around him, and he hadn’t realized the director had arrived.

“She said she had a message for you. Told me to tell you that Prongs looks like a cop and you’re embarrassing yourself, which...do with that what you will, it doesn’t make much sense to us sane folks.”

“Why did she harm you,” asked the wolf, eyes narrowed. Nick was learning to hate that expression. “Her prior history and pattern of behavior makes this an unlikely move. She would be reluctant to harm someone she values.”

“Pretty sure this is just more evidence that she doesn’t value me, Director. But I might have gotten angry. I told her I was going to bring her into the station. Like I said, I was angry. I was also naked. It was a stupid move, and she reminded me not to underestimate her. Did you know she pulls her punches during spars?”

Fangworthy rubbed his eyes. He looked as tired as Nick felt. “You told her you were going to arrest her.”

“More like I shouted it at her, but yeah. I think I was hoping she’d come quietly, but I’m used to dealing with _my_ Judy, not...vigilante Judy or mob Judy or whatever stupid thing she’s doing. My Judy, the one who said she cared, would have come peacefully.”

It wasn’t hard to fake sadness at the thought of her being arrested. This had always been part of her; she had always been willing to do what needed to be done at great cost to herself. Even during their very first case, she had been willing to stay behind and fight, effectively sacrificing her life, if it meant giving Nick time to get their stolen evidence to the ZPD, because that had been the most important objective. _Save the city._ This, if Nick looked at it logically, was the same. She was sacrificing her health and safety, maybe her freedom and possibly even her life if things went sideways, to bring down Mr. Big. At the very least, she was sacrificing her career. Whatever immunity she’d been offered would necessarily take her away from the ZPD. It was stupid to pretend otherwise. Nick was kind of annoyed that they hadn’t discussed it, but he couldn’t blame that on her. They were both at fault for not taking things as seriously as they should have, and now Judy was paying for it. Freely, but still.

It took a certain kind of mammal to be a cop. Determination was important, of course, as were a degree of physical ability and intellectual acuity. But in order to be a real, effective cop, you needed to have the ability to do what needed to be done. Nick knew that outside of her occasional bouts of frustration, Judy had often struggled internally with the thought of having to shoot a criminal, or even tase one, since taser shocks could still result in death. But she’d never shied away from it. She’d never weighed the pros and cons and decided the cons were heavier. That was something a mammal could learn, of course, but according to the stories from her parents, she’d always been good at it. She’d always pursued the right thing, even when the right thing might be inconvenient or cause damage to herself or others.

See: stealing a drug lab, which exploded.

See: blackmailing a random fox off the street into risking his life on a case she’d stolen.

See: chasing after a dangerous killer despite her broken ribs.

See: killing Malcolm Coates.

The point of the video was obvious. If it were circulated around the station, Mr. Big’s plants would see it. They would be required to pass on the information that Judy had been seen doing the deed. If she had followed their plan to the letter – and Nick couldn’t see why she wouldn’t have – then she’d have had Mr. Big’s associates pick the location of execution, and the video had been recorded from far enough away that there was no realistic way Judy could have known she was being recorded, had she not set it up with the viewer, who was probably Castleberry. Mr. Big would take great pleasure in knowing that Judy didn’t have another option anymore – there was no way for an ousted mob hitter to work for the ZPD – and if her sleuthing worked out, she’d have the name of at least one plant by the end of the week, if not sooner.

What _wasn’t_ obvious was the reason she had actually killed Coates. They had known, of _course,_ that it was possible she would have to kill _somebody,_ but the plan had been to keep it as bloodless as possible. With MBI resources and the weight of Castleberry’s team behind her, it should have been easy for Judy to set up a switch just like the one Castleberry had posited (and Nick had rejected) in the station. Coates would have to go into temporary custody and in the meantime, Big’s cleanup crew would be scraping the remains of someone else off the pavement, someone who’d already died before Judy pulled the trigger. So what had changed? Why the real kill?

Nick didn’t like not having information, but he’d been so damn _relieved_ to see her that he hadn’t remembered to ask.

Fangworthy was talking again. Nick focused, trying to extrapolate from context clues what the subject was. “-take you into protective custody, but you’d probably be more of a liability that way. She likes you enough to keep you alive and...remarkably intact.”

“Might have kissed her, too,” Nick said, sagging against the wall. His head felt heavy. “It worked better than fighting back did. Gave me enough time to push her out the door and lock it.”

“You took advantage of her feelings for you?”

Nick gave Fangworthy a flat look. The wolf looked more amused than Nick, animally, thought was appropriate. “Of course I did. I can’t best her in paw combat. Very few can, and those are the mammals you don’t want to meet in a dark alley. You have to do the best you can with what weapons you have.”

“You’re not as useless as my associate makes you out to be.”

“I’m not useless at all. Agent Castleberry just actively dislikes me, for some reason. Maybe she’s jealous of my good looks.” Nick winced at the raised brow. “Sorry, Sir. I joke when things are bleak.”

“Things _are_ bleak.” Fangworthy sat down next to Nick, looking thoughtful. That probably boded well, but on the other paw, Nick didn’t want anyone looking _too_ closely at him. “You haven’t been entirely honest, have you?”

Nick’s stomach dropped. “Sir, what-”

“You knew what her assignment was when we showed you that video. Shortly after we began monitoring our asset, you invited her to move in with you, effectively crippling us if she didn’t have her phone with her. You know what she is. Or what she was supposed to be.”

Was it worth playing dumb? Not really. It didn’t matter, and a bit of honesty would probably go a long way in making Fangworthy trust Nick. “It wasn’t hard to guess. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to ask her anything to get specifics, but...you get to know enough mammals and you start seeing patterns. Some mammals give up. Others, like Judy, use optimism as a weapon. Those are the ones who are most likely to self-destruct. That’s why I was so angry this morning. I thought of all mammals, you government types would be able to see when someone’s on the edge. You have no idea how badly I want to sit back and watch you slip in your own mess, but...this is Judy Hopps. She deserves to go to jail now, but as far as I’m concerned you’re the reason she snapped. Being so close to her for so long lets me see what’s her and what’s the poison you put in her.”

“That poison was always there, Wilde.” Nick shook his head and made to stand, but Fangworthy put his paw on Nick’s shoulder, stilling him. “No, listen to me. You don’t endeavor to make the world a better place if you don’t _already_ know of its ills. That optimism _was_ a weapon. It gave her focus. Made her less likely to ruminate on the inherent rankness of this place. The world is filthy because we let it rot, and then we expected driven young mammals like Hopps – and you, maybe, if your service records are accurate – to go in and clean up the problems we created. Hopps _volunteered_ to do that, because she had a good heart. But don’t think for one moment that she was ever anything but the type of mammal who would rather kick her bully in the face than try to reason with him.”

“I get what you’re saying, I do, but I thought I knew her. No. My reaction’s been...irrational. I _did_ know her. And she was depressed before, but she started to go downhill even faster as soon as Agent Castleberry called to recruit her for some job down in the Bayou.”

That was an exaggeration, but nobody needed to know that.

“Castleberry is the best,” said Fangworthy with a grimace, “but she has a history of mind games. For what it’s worth, I don’t think Hopps intended to get this deep. I don’t think she intended to...as you say...snap.”

Nick allowed a cynical snort. “If intentions mattered, our justice system would be pointless and our jails would be empty. _Oh, I’m sorry, Your Honor, I didn’t mean to hurt anybody when I robbed that house, all the property damage was an accident, and I was planning to give it all to charity anyway – ask anyone who knows me, they’ll tell you I’m a kind animal!_ Okay, guess you didn’t mean to steal his uninsured assets, damage his home and vehicle, and push him into bankruptcy, you’re all good. Not guilty! The only time intentions actually matter is when they’re trying to decide whether it’s murder or voluntary mammalslaughter, and even then, the crime still exists. The vic is still dead.”

“You feel strongly about this, don’t you?”

He shrugged. “I guess. I was a real piece of scat before I joined the ZPD, but as soon as I enrolled in the Academy I dedicated my life to the pursuit of justice. I thought Judy had my back on that. It’s...I know it doesn’t invalidate the work I’ve done, but being betrayed by the first mammal who believed in me...it’s bitter. I promised to help make the world a better place, but _my_ world is a darker place knowing she won’t be in it. Maybe she didn’t intend to go over the line, but she did, and now I’m left hoping that my moral compass is enough.”

Fangworthy looked at Nick until he felt like the old wolf could see through him, into his brain, stick his dirty fingers in Nick’s grey matter and sift through his thoughts, but he didn’t look away. He hoped he looked earnest enough that Fangworthy would buy it. Finally, the pressure on his shoulder lessened and Fangworthy said, “Report to my office tomorrow. I’ll clear it with Bogo.”

“Sir?”

“This is a large city, and other than Castleberry, you are the only semi-trustworthy mammal in law enforcement here capable of fitting into some of the best hiding spots. You know Hopps – not as she was years ago, but as she was months ago. I want to keep this bloodless and quiet, Wilde. No need to incite a panic. So I need you to lead us to her.”

It figured that even as he was waxing poetic about the ills he’d created, Fangworthy would want to keep quiet about a hero cop going rogue. Then again, Nick was beginning to get the feeling that he only had half of the story, and that Judy didn’t have much more than that. Still, he needed to really sell himself as something to be valued. “What about my other cases, Sir? There’s this little girl-”

“Clues are few and far between when you’re dealing with professionals like Hopps and the Largo family. Keep the cases you’re hip-deep in, toss the rest back into the pile. Your supervisor will understand.”

Considering Wolford’s distaste for the MBI, and Fangworthy in particular, Nick highly doubted that, but Wolford would at least not penalize Nick for being recruited into this ridiculous case. “Thank you, Sir.”

“I still don’t trust you.”

“I wouldn’t trust you if you said you did.”

A laugh. “Don’t make me regret this. If you do well, there might be something in it for you at the end.”

The only reason Nick didn’t shudder in disgust was that no one was allowed to see that _Fangworthy_ had gotten to him. He needed to stay cool, calm, and clear-headed. He needed to go back seven years and be what he’d thought he would never be again: the slick son of Ruth Wilde.

* * *

Before Nick could properly report anywhere, he was waylaid by Fangmeyer. Their expression was grimmer than usual, and although they were no longer Nick’s direct superior, he drew himself up and made an attempt to look respectable. He was exhausted, having stayed up most of the night talking to officers and going over the details of his various plans, but the Captain had been a good boss. Nick genuinely respected them.

“Chief wants to see you,” the tiger said.

“Now?”

“Now.” They hesitated for a moment, and then held out their paw. “Leave your phone with me.”

So this was a conversation Bogo didn’t want overheard by the MBI. He could get behind that. Bogo may not have been an ally, precisely, but he was at least an outside third party who would still be less objective about the MBI case. Nick gave his phone to Fangmeyer and said, “I’ll go up immediately. Thanks, Captain.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

“Am I in trouble?”

They sighed. “I really hope not.”

Nick puzzled over that one as he made his way to the Chief’s office. It seemed that the mammals in the know, at least tangentially, were officers with sway. Did more officers know that there was something going on? How many of them genuinely believed that Judy had given up on doing the right thing for no reason? Hopefully most or all of them. If it got out that she was working for a spook to bring down the Big organization...then everything she’d had to do thus far would be for nothing. They’d never find and root out Big’s eyes and ears in the ZPD.

When he pushed open the door to Bogo’s office, he was surprised to see both Bogo and Clawhauser, who looked more serious than Nick had ever seen him. Angry, really, if he had to put a name to it. He hoped Clawhauser wasn’t angry at _him._ Despite appearances, dispatch was a position of power.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?”

“Sit down, Wilde,” said Bogo, sounding tired. Everyone was tired, it seemed. Nick realized – suddenly – that where his voice had once been strong and stern, Bogo now had a slight tremor, and those pills he had to take might not be for rage headaches. The Chief was getting _old._ It wasn’t a pleasant thought. Nick sat hesitantly and hoped he wasn’t about to be fired.

“I heard something two days ago,” said Clawhauser. “I brought it to Chief Bogo immediately, but neither one of us knew what it meant until the video yesterday, and we decided you should hear it too now that you’ve been greenlit by Fangworthy. Maybe you’ll make something of it.”

Bogo clicked his mouse, and a recording began.

 _“We have cadavers.”_ That was Judy’s voice. _“We have a perfect John Doe in the morgue. No family, nobody who cares whether or not we hold an ash ceremony. Why can’t we use him?”_

 _“Trust me on this, Kitten.”_ That was Castleberry. Nick wanted to throw something on principle. _“That would be an option if it weren’t for the extenuating circumstances. He wanted to_ rape _you. Why do you even care? You should be begging for this. The Judy Hopps I know and love would-”_

_“The Judy Hopps you know never existed! I jumped when you said jump because you were so supportive and sweet, and more importantly, the one I reported to. I did as you said because I knew if I didn’t I would never get to live out my dream. Do you have any idea what kind of weight that was? You made me think that you cared for me as an animal...and that if I didn’t love you back, I would scrub out. I was too starry-eyed to see, but that’s not love, it’s blackmail.”_

_“Says the blackmailer.”_

_“I’m not perfect, I know that. I’m also not your perfect killing machine. It’s not who I am.”_

_“Oh, don’t be dramatic. You always were a pill. You are my best legacy, Jude; you had fun back then, and you’ll have fun now. It’s just more training, if it helps. And anyway the only difference between a cadaver and a live mammal is that corpses don’t scream.”_

_“Do you hear that?”_

_“Don’t change the subject.”_

_“No, I hear something...electronic, buzzing...someone’s using their phone near here. If you insist on trying to talk me into this, we should at least go somewhere with a little more protection.”_

Nick frowned. _Terrifying_ insight into Castleberry’s psyche aside, the pieces were easy to put together, and he had no doubt that Bogo had come to the right conclusion as soon as the video had been shown. Even without Nick’s inside information, it wouldn’t be hard to understand. The question was, _why?_

“Where did you get this?”

“I saw Hopps and the agent in my favorite café. I go there every day at the same time for lunch. I sit at the same booth. Hopps knows that, so I thought she would at least say hi, but she and Castleberry just sat in the booth behind me and Hopps said, _“I hope nobody records us having lunch, because that would be embarrassing.”_ Now, I may not know the situation, but I’m not stupid. It took me a minute to get my phone out, but I managed to get that recording. It’s worthless in a court of law, but…”

“Valuable to us,” Nick finished. “Potentially. Are they really saying what I think they’re saying?”

“You tell me.” Bogo looked at Nick the way Fangworthy had looked at him the night prior. “You’ve been recruited to an MBI team dedicated to bringing Hopps in on charges that extend past murder for reasons I can’t fathom, but this recording suggests that she was _ordered_ by a high-ranking government official to do it. The Ocelot ordered a hit. How much of Director Fangworthy’s investigation is a smokescreen?”

“Either all of it or none of it,” Nick said truthfully. “I animally think he didn’t know about this conversation. I...if I tell you something, can we keep it private?”

“From the MBI?”

Nick nodded. “And from everyone else.”

“I’m disinclined to give the MBI help until I know what the _hell_ is going on with my officers, so whatever you say doesn’t leave this room unless it’s something I have to charge you for.”

“Good. I…” Nick took a deep breath, and prepared for the worst. It was a risk, but it would most likely pay off. “I know what Judy was supposed to do. All of it. We don’t keep secrets from each other, Chief, even if someone tries to tell us that we should. I played dumb about the operation because I didn’t want her to get into trouble for telling me, but I know she’s supposed to infiltrate Mr. Big’s organization _as_ a hitter. I even know that the body switch with the cadaver was supposed to be the plan, and that all of the mammals she’s supposed to kill are going to disappear instead of die until this is all over. I didn’t have any idea that she would really kill Malcolm Coates, but it’s clear that she’s following orders. I just don’t think they’re Fangworthy’s, because this is _not_ protocol. I don’t see what Castleberry’s end goal is; she can’t get anything out of this other than entertainment. Maybe her goal is just to hurt Judy, or maybe there really _were_ “extenuating circumstances” that we’re not privy to. Judy’s not a bad mammal, Chief. She didn’t snap or “show her true nature” or become a genuine asset for Mr. Big. I saw that video and it was like...my _feet_ got kicked out from under me, because this is going to mess her up and then last night...our _fight._ She hurt _herself_ more than she hurt me, and I’m betting she’d pretend it’s just to make the story seem realistic, but she’s self-destructing and-”

“Stop.”

Nick stopped. He was shaking again, his voice slipping between his usual drawl and a whine. “She’s going to disappear, just like you said.”

“I am quite certain that was the plan. You didn’t think a spider like Katrina Castleberry would let go of her fly once she’d caught it in her web? You weren’t there to be her nursemaid, you were there to be her tether. And you were good at it. You grounded her. Made her less brash, less likely to fly into danger. I put up with the codependency and inappropriate displays of affection because I needed to keep the officers I could trust alive and in relatively good spirits. I did _not_ anticipate the Ocelot, and that’s my fault, not yours. Now, I know this is going to be a burden on you, but in light of this new information...I need you to be the ZPD’s eyes and ears. They’ve shut out my officers, except Heather, who isn’t reliable as anything but a sharpshooter. Every one of us was interviewed. Every one of us was rejected. Except you.”

Nick kept his face impassive, but inside, it was chaos. Bogo had no love for the MBI. No regional cops liked them very much; they tended to sweep in, make use of local resources, and leave behind a mess that local precincts would have to clean up. They had their function, and Nick liked the idea of never having to deal with pan-regional crime rings or terrorist groups, but they were a pain in the tail otherwise. On the other paw, double-crossing the Director was a bad idea. There was only one reason for him to get involved instead of staying behind a desk far away, and that was prior history; this wasn’t just another case to Fangworthy, it was animal to him. Judy was going to be collateral damage no matter what Nick did, but at the very least, he could try to _mitigate_ the damage.

“How do you want me to report to you,” Nick asked, and he could hear the pessimism in his own voice. He wanted to be the kind of mammal who always looked on the bright side. He could look at this as an opportunity to help the bunny he loved instead of an opportunity to really screw everything up. But his brain didn’t work like that, even after five years of being a cop alongside the most annoyingly upbeat partner he could have had.

“Coordinate with Clawhauser. He’s been temporarily reassigned to evidence.”

Rather more aggressively than he’d intended, Nick growled, “What?”

“Don’t give me that attitude. There are six mammals in this Precinct I trust implicitly. Half of them are in this room. Think for a moment about _why_ Clawhauser would be reassigned to a place our vice officers spend a significant amount of time in.”

“Nobody suspects the flamboyant voice of the ZPD,” offered Clawhauser, grinning. His teeth were _sharp._ How had Nick never noticed that? “I’m all pudge and smiles and doughnuts. Everyone forgets that I know everything that goes on in this station, and everyone that walks in and out.”

“Is that...deliberate?”

“Nah, just a perk. But don’t worry, Wilde, I’ve got your back for as long as it takes.”

“So just to be clear, Chief...you want me to run a short game on the MBI, double-cross the spook in our closet, and get back in time for dinner?”

Bogo snorted. “When you put it like that, you make it seem so easy. I’m asking you to do what needs to be done. My house is in an uproar, and the problem lies with them. Get me what I need to make them go away.”

“Yessir,” Nick affirmed.

The somewhat comforting truth was...it wasn’t the MBI’s fault. It was Nick’s fault. It was Judy’s fault. So although Bogo didn’t know it, he was giving Nick the opportunity to clean up his own mess. He suspected things would get worse before they’d get better, but at least he didn’t have to go it alone.

* * *

After Nick sent a text update to Judy from the bathroom, he reported to Fangworthy, whose team seemed to be in crisis. Television always showed MBI agents as collected professionals, but what Nick walked into was a shouting match between everyone on the small team.

“What,” he said flatly.

“Oh, good. Wilde.” Fangworthy sidestepped a fuming agent and approached Nick. “You know Ethan Prongs, right?”

Nick nodded warily. “I know everybody.”

“Good, then you can tell us what you think of him.”

“He’s a decent officer.” Nick sat on a chair without asking. He still felt shaky. It was the exhaustion. He suspected he might have taken on one plate too many for this juggling act. “Quiet, doesn’t complain or get excited about much of anything. He talks to Higgins sometimes, and he’ll come out for drinks, but he doesn’t socialize much. He eats a lot of seed chips and hummus. Wife, 2.5 fawns, picket fence, you know. He always does his work and checks it twice.”

“Would you say he was _odd_ in any way?”

Nick frowned up at Fangworthy. “Is this about what Hopps said? She was _nuts-”_

“And she was right.” Fangworthy let that sink in for a moment while Nick pretended to be surprised and slightly confused. “I had my techs up all night scouring Prongs’ records just to be safe, and do you know what they found?”

“I will once you tell me.”

“When his first fawn came down with CWD, he had just joined the ZPD. Someone with a billing address in Tundratown paid his daughter’s medical bills in full. It was under the name of a corporation, one of the many we’ve been tracking in the Largo case. There haven’t been any repayments, but Prongs spends a lot of time in Tundratown and never paid back the loan. We got permission to bring him in early this morning. He’s not talking right now, but we’re going to try again.”

“I didn’t expect that,” Nick said, feeling stupid. In the bustle of everything, he’d assumed Judy was warning Fangworthy that a ZPD scout stood out as an obvious cop, not that he was...actively involved. _God,_ he was tired.

“So this puts me in a unique situation of having to divide my priorities. Your partner is in deep trouble for more than just murder, but knowing what I know about her, I am beginning to wonder if perhaps she still believes she’s working for us. She was offered immunity for certain prior transgressions in return for her cooperation in this case, not carte blanche, and we were _very_ clear on that, but I remember overseeing training sessions in which she pushed herself so hard she vomited or fainted. I do not like uncertainties.”

“Is that what this fight is about, then?”

“My team is divided,” the wolf acknowledged, annoyed. “Half of them believe this changes nothing. The other half believe that to be short-sighted. They will do what I tell them to do, but Wilde, I want you to look me in the eye and tell me what _you_ think.”

Part of being an officer was making quick decisions in the face of uncertain danger. There was a chance – a _good_ chance – that this was all a setup to get Nick to talk about Judy. To get Nick to admit that he didn’t want her brought in on whatever charges they wanted to pursue. Murder, and probably conspiracy, at the very least, since everyone involved with Mr. Big would have to go down. Maybe even financial crimes like racketeering, since she was well aware of where Mr. Big’s money came from and if she accepted any of that money as payment for her _kills…_

Worst of all, Nick didn’t know if Fangworthy was involved in Castleberry’s plan. It was _also_ possible that this was all a smokescreen meant to flush out Big’s mammals in the department, the ones who’d escaped Lionheart’s purge because they kept their noses clean and their business separate. Prongs _was_ a good officer, if a little standoffish. Nick hadn’t even suspected him. Big knew what he was doing; if all Prongs had to do was report when something might affect the operation...then he might never have gotten caught, had Judy not set this up.

“I think,” he said heavily, “that this is what the taxpayers pay _you_ for. Look, up till now my job’s been simple. I was either on the beat or investigating individual suspicious deaths. Zoicide that I had no animal attachment to. It’s not possible for me to be objective on this one. That said, if the tip was solid, maybe we should consider the body-switch possibility that Castleberry posited and in the meantime, treat Hopps’ intel as stuff any old CI would give us. We’ll arrest her if we find her – _when_ we find her – but until then, if she communicates with anybody, we treat it as a tip. Investigate it. Gosling down in IT could help with the data crunching if you need your tech team for something more in-depth. Could you...introduce me, though? If I’m going to be glared at by every member of your team for answering your question, I might as well know their names.”

Fangworthy pointed to a giant muntjac buck about a foot and a half taller than Nick with the antlers, an unusually short grizzly, a black ewe that towered over him, and another wolf, just a little shorter than Fangworthy himself, naming them in turn. “Agent Cervisca, Agent Root, Agent Sheparton, Agent Rivers. You already know Officer Heather, but he’s out scouting right now. And Katie’s...somewhere getting lunch for us.”

Nick fought a smile at the thought of Castleberry being relegated to coffee duty, instead choosing to ask, “Rivers, like Wolford’s old partner?”

“That’s me,” said the smaller wolf. “Don’t tell him I’m here. There’s some bad blood.”

“I’m pretty sure he already knows. Best sniffer on the force who isn’t an elephant, if you’ll recall,” Nick told her. To the room at large, he said, “Anyway, I’m happy to help out, but I don’t know how much that help will be worth. If you want insight into possibly-corrupt officers, I am _more_ than willing to sell out any piece of scat stinking up our precinct. If you want insight into Hopps, I can do that too. But I’m not MBI and I have no intention of leaving the ZPD, so if there’s classified information involved...it might have to stay classified to me.”

“That is exactly what we’re looking for,” said Sheparton, shooting a nasty look at Cervisca. “Just information. The more you give us, the more we can give you. You understand.”

Nick thought about Judy’s precarious position, about Castleberry’s sinister words and probable sinister intentions, about Bogo saying that he trusted Nick implicitly. Fangworthy’s initial unwillingness to include him until he was “beaten up” by Judy, the suspicious (but probably wise) decision to not include anyone else but the ZPD’s perma-loan sniper. There was really only one answer he could give. “I’ll need a copy of your case files and as much information as you can give me if you want me to be useful at all, but I’m in.”

* * *

Gosling’s facial recognition software _(“Don’t you dare tell anyone I’m running this, Wilde, I swear on everything unholy and terrifying that I will end you if the MBI finds out what I’ve made before I can patent it.”)_ worked wonders, and finally, Nick had real hope for the Beatrice Stripely case. He had followed up on Judy’s throwaway clue about Beth’s sperm donor, and he now had a lead.

After the hassle of meeting with the MBI team, the heaviness of Bogo’s request and the difficulty of coding an entire meeting report on an evidence form for Clawhauser, Nick felt almost lighthearted when the caseworker approved another meeting with Beth Stripely a day later. It wouldn’t take long; Nick only had a few questions for her, and most of them only applied if she answered his first real question in the negative.

The girl looked shaken, smaller than she’d previously looked even on the too-large chair at the too-large table in the too-large interview room, so he began the interview with a softer question. “Are you okay, Beth?”

She looked behind her at the caseworker, who was looking at her phone, and leaned in. “Miss Appleton says nobody wants me. Where am I supposed to live if nobody wants me?”

To her credit, she didn’t cry, although that may have been because she was already cried out. She looked as tired as Nick still felt even after he’d slept for a full ten hours. He looked at Appleton with disdain, but it was a wasted effort; she didn’t even look up from whatever she was doing. He lamented her necessity, because he sorely wanted to call her a bitch and be done with it. As a fellow canid, she would appreciate the connotation. He put on a gentle expression for Beth’s sake and said, “You won’t be homeless. You’re a _child._ And I’m working on finding your mom. We’re going to make sure you’re taken care of.”

Beth surged forward and threw her little arms around him with a wail. He flailed a little when Appleton looked up, startled. Desperately, he mouthed, _help me,_ but she just smirked and looked at her phone again. He hesitantly placed his paws on Beth’s back, trying to simultaneously give her the comfort Appleton had clearly denied her and not let her snot all over his shirt. “Um. There, there. It will probably be okay.”

Real children were so much harder than adult Fennecs in elephant jammies. There was no script, and their emotions were always real.

Beth pulled away and wiped her eyes and nose. Nick privately despaired at the puddle of snot and tears left on his shirt. Why was it always _him?_ “Thanks, Mister Officer Nick Wilde.”

“Haaaaa, you’re welcome. Are you okay to answer questions,” he answered.

“Yeah. You’re gonna find my mama and then Miss Appleton won’t be mean to me anymore.”

He made a mental note to lodge a complaint with CPS. It would probably come to nothing, but as the Angel with Horns said, it was important to try everything, even if it was doomed to fail. Or something like that, anyway. Out loud, he said, “All right, then. This might sound weird, but have you ever met your dad?”

“Mama said he was dead,” said the girl, hugging her own tail, “but he picked me up at school two times. Mama scratched him on the shoulder the first time to make him let go of me and the second time, he asked me if I wanted to live with him. I kicked him in the shins and ran home. I know that’s bad, but I love my mama and he was too creepy. That was the day before Mama got hit and they took her away, but I forgot cos of everything else.”

Was _that_ what this was about? Was the money just a ruse to get Beth? But that didn’t make sense; they wouldn’t have taken Beatrice had they wanted her daughter instead. Or had Wesley Flamme just known what was going to happen to Beatrice and tried to step up for once? Nick needed to find the prick and talk to him. If he really did feel some kind of affection for Beth, that meant he could be a weak link. They could have _leverage._ And as much as Nick hated the thought of using a living mammal as leverage, it was for her own benefit. The nice thing about being a cop was that when it came to criminals who deserved to be put away, he always had the upper paw, because it wasn’t a con. He wasn’t playing games. He was doing the right thing for Beth, for Beatrice, and ultimately, for Zootopia.

Judy was right: he could bear to run if he had to, but it would take a big toll. He _loved_ his city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way I’ve used “bitch” is gender-neutral among canid culture, because animals wouldn’t always put the same meaning to the same words; in this case it’s offensive among canids, especially coming from another canid, because it implies that the individual is both overly aggressive and pathetic, which is not what any canid wants to be. It’s really a dirty word that is reserved only for the worst of the worst. I can’t think of an English equivalent.
> 
> We’re heading into the home stretch. No more than 4 chapters left, unless I fuck up a bit. It’s possible. I hope I can keep it below 35K, at least.


	16. Mobilized

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clues are in place, and Nick doesn’t like the picture he can finally see. Wolford proves to be very reliable. Bogo wants to see justice done. Fangworthy, Nick, and Castleberry come to an arrangement. Beth gets happy news and Nick learns what it feels like to have hope rewarded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has _heavily_ implied sex crimes, although you don't see anything on-screen.

Two weeks.

Two weeks of bizarre clues, tiptoeing around basically everyone at the station, and no face-to-face contact with Judy. They’d deemed it unsafe, and while Nick wasn’t happy with the arrangement, it was...probably necessary. Physical shakes were not normal separation symptoms. A degree of anxiety was to be expected, but not to such an extent that Judy had taken up all of his headspace. It was getting better; he had cases to focus on, and coworkers to get to know, and...he was doing well. The fruits of his efforts were sweet, or whatever the saying was. He didn’t need Judy to be a good cop or a good mammal.

The situation with Mr. Big was even more perilous now that they were sort of closing in, but Nick was beginning to feel calmer the longer everyone he cared about stayed alive and unharmed. Further, he was getting close to finding Beatrice – he could feel it – and he was beginning to understand the MBI dynamics.

Not that he liked what he saw, but at least he  _ could  _ see it now.

With an inside partner, it wasn’t hard to leave clues that led a team in the right direction. With the help of texts to each other’s burner phones and a little creativity, Nick and Judy had effectively led the MBI on a toddler-level scavenger hunt for Mr. Big’s mammals – aside from Prongs, the other disappointments they’d picked up were Matthew Pawsley from the missing mammals department and two from  _ major crimes,  _ Aileen Horner and Frank Woods. No wonder nobody had been able to pin anything on Mr. Big; the very department in charge of investigating the organization had been infiltrated quietly and professionally.

It didn’t look good at all on either front, but on the plus side, things were coming together. On Nick’s mental cork board, he’d connected the lines and dots involved with Fangworthy, the MBI team, Castleberry, and the ZPD, and each of their functions. It had been easy to get Judy to spill what she knew about everyone – all it had taken was the word  _ please  _ and a sad-face emoji – but her assessment, although lacking due to details she didn’t have access to, was a relief if he wanted them both to emerge relatively safe and physically unharmed.

_ Katie went through Victor _

_ She told me everything _

_ Plausible deniability in worst case scenario _

_ Katie said the orders came from further up anyway _

_ Did you hear the recording? _

_ Please tell me Clawhauser recorded my conversation _

Later, she’d sent him about fifteen texts that gave him good advice about getting information for the MBI case, such as the latest two:

_ Tomorrow I’m going to do a dead drop on 25th and  _  
_ Lingonberry then get seen, make sure you get there  _  
_ when the MBI team does _

_ Ask Horner about her ‘children,’ she’ll crack like an egg _

It was Nick’s turn to try to get information out of the officers they were holding. None of them had said anything useful yet – which was alarming, because it meant their fear of Mr. Big was bigger than their fear of legal justice – but Nick had been studying interrogation techniques by watching old recordings of Fangmeyer. Nick was good with words, good enough that whatever he lacked in menace he could make up for in wit, as long as he stopped thinking of these criminals as mammals. It was necessary to terrify them. They could be mammals again after he got his information.

“Think you can do this,” asked Rivers, eyeing him. “It’s not exactly your forte. You like getting along with mammals.”

“I’m sure we’ll get along just fine,” Nick replied with convincing confidence he didn’t feel. “A mark is a mark. It’s just the way you communicate that changes. By the time we’re done here, we’ll be begging her to shut up already.”

She cheerfully clapped him on the back. “See, I  _ told  _ them you’d work out. Make us proud, Wilde.”

Aileen Horner was a rhinoceros. Usually, species was the least interesting thing about a mammal, but in this case, she was so closed off that it was the only thing Nick  _ knew  _ about her, other than that she’d survived uterine cancer and had no family  _ on record. _ That didn’t give him much leverage, but it did give him plenty of opportunity to get creative. Slick Nick Wilde didn’t need details to get details; he just needed confidence. The details would reveal themselves.

Hopefully, Slick Nick Wilde was still in there somewhere, or this was probably going to get painful.

“Morning, Aileen,” he said, jumping up to land on the chair across from her. He pretended to slip upon landing. Horner had never said anything negative to or about him, as far as he knew, but that only meant that he needed to look less competent than he was. “You’ve been briefed, yes? You know what this is about?”

She stared at him.

“You know your rights?”

“Yes, I know my rights,” she told him, frowning. 

“It’s just.” Nick consulted the case file, whose top page was filled with doodles of bleeding ocelots. Not that anyone needed to know what he thought about in his spare time. “You ought to know by now that if you don’t lawyer up, someone’s going to get clever and you won’t have a legal team to save you from making a mistake. I’m trying to figure out why you waived your right to counsel.”

“Maybe I just know I’m innocent.”

He returned the flat stare that she’d given him. “Yeah, sure. Because cops never take things out of context, nor do we throw the book at the ones who really deserve it according to our  _ expert  _ opinions. You’re in major crimes, Aileen. How many times have you filed a complaint against your coworker – Fernald, I believe? – for being a little too violent with a suspect? For twisting a suspect’s words, making it harder for  _ you  _ to solve your cases? I count three here, and that’s just what IA has deigned to share.”

“The truth will out.”

“Yeah, sure, I’m sure it will. Then you can get back to your life. With your children.”

“I don’t,” she said, finally looking shaken. “I don’t have children.”

“That’s right, you don’t,” Nick replied, thinking furiously. The tip about her children had come for a reason. “And you never will, if you don’t do what you’re told by the guys in charge.”

There. Vague enough for anyone to read anything into it, but worded in such a way that it didn’t sound like a threat from the ZPD. 

“You know?”

He leaned forward, lowering his voice. They were still recording, but she didn’t need to know that. “Listen, I don’t know how much I can do for you. Paul doesn’t always change his mind. But if I can convince him that you told us nothing, when  _ in actuality  _ you tell us what we need...little favors. That’s how it works. You do something for me, I make your world a better place.”

She looked up at the camera. He shook his head, pretending that it wasn’t on. “How do you know where they are?”

“I don’t. I only know that they exist, and that – thus far – they’re safe. How long do you think it’ll take for his other mammals to figure out that we’ve got you, though? How long do you think it’ll take for them to no longer be safe? They’re so easily damaged.”

One thing Nick did know was that Horner didn’t have any biological children and she’d had to get a full hysterectomy, so these ones were most likely young mammals she’d taken in, probably illegally. Seeing that she lived in an apartment that could only realistically house one rhinoceros, it seemed likely that they were of a smaller species. She cared about them enough to do as Mr. Big said in order to keep them safe. She thought of them as her own.

“What do you need to know,” she asked immediately. “I’ll do anything. Don’t let them un-freeze my eggs.”

Wait.

_ What. _

“The names of every mammal you know of who works for the ZPD,” he told her, refusing to show his confusion and dismay. “Even if you only suspect, write the name on the list. Write down what businesses you know of that you haven’t bothered to report while you’ve been working with the ZPD. Anything that was relevant to the Largo case that you  _ forgot  _ during your stint with major crimes, hurry up and remember it. Time’s ticking, and I don’t want you to lose what you value most.”

He slid her a pen and a notepad, jumped down from the chair, and slipped out of the room, immediately running into Rivers, who looked at him like he was a creature from the deep. “How did you know about the eggs?”

“What eggs? I said children. Mammals don’t lay eggs,” he whispered frantically.

“That’s not  _ totally  _ true,” said Rivers thoughtfully. “There’s platypuses, some echidna-”

“Rhinos don’t! I was taking a shot in the dark with my comment about her  _ children,  _ and now we can’t verify the truth of any of the statements she’s about to give us because she’s bug-sniffing  _ crazy!” _

Rivers snickered. “Oh, you dear, sweet thing. Didn’t you hear? She said  _ un-freeze.  _ Means she got some eggs removed for later use, for whatever reason mammals do that. Usually medical reasons, or they get irrationally paranoid about their eggs rotting or...I don’t even know, who likes cubs? Ugh.”

“Wait, seriously? That’s a thing?”

“It’s not common, and it’s  _ really  _ expensive for megafauna, but yes.”

Maybe she was still crazy, but not in the same way. “So, for example, if a rhino who  _ really  _ wants her own progeny gets uterine cancer and needs a hysterectomy…”

“...and can’t pay for her eggs to be harvested?” Rivers seemed to be on board. “Maybe needs some financial help to save her chance of carrying on her name with the help of a surrogate somewhere down the line, and has a position a crime boss can exploit?”

He nodded, almost feeling sorry for Horner. That was what Big did; he targeted mammals with genuine need, and exploited them later, calling in little favors that didn’t seem so big until they suddenly were. Failure led to swift and extreme punishment, and no matter what, Big made sure to have more power than the one he was exploiting. He had a lot of resources and enough legitimate sway in communities like Little Rodentia and Tundratown that very few were willing to actively cross him. To make it worse, most of his businesses were legitimate. Trying to separate the sticky web was nearly impossible, and without Mr. Big’s operation running these legitimate businesses, they’d go under, and hundreds – maybe even thousands – of innocent mammals, who didn’t know they were working for a mob business, would lose their jobs.

He  _ almost  _ felt sorry for Horner, and maybe if she hadn’t been an officer, he might have allowed it headspace. But as soon as she’d put her selfish desire to  _ maybe  _ see biological children of her own over the safety of Zootopia and her duties as a major crimes officer, she’d crossed the line. 

“She’s writing a lot in there,” said Rivers, watching through an observation window Nick couldn’t reach. 

“She’s with major crimes. She’s probably got more information than anybody else. Not only does she need to know what to tell Big, but what to obscure from the investigation. That’s why I wanted to focus on her,” he said, shrugging. “Even if it meant I had to carry a giant pen and paper pad in with me.”

Rivers grinned down at him and clapped his shoulder again. “Ha! We’ll make you an agent yet.”

His stomach dropped. Being an MBI agent was the last thing he wanted. After all, Castleberry was nominally MBI, and she had no problem putting Judy in so much active danger that she didn’t have a place to  _ stay.  _ “Ha. Yeah, no. I’m good where I am.”

“Vice is where good cops go to die,” she said seriously, and something in her tone made Nick wonder why exactly she’d chosen to leave with Fangworthy all those years ago. “You should have met ol’ Wolford when I knew him. He used to smile.”

* * *

Vice was  _ not  _ where good cops went to die. It was where good cops went to help vulnerable portions of the population.

Once upon a time, before Nick had been old enough to process things like legislation, politics, and spite, vice cops had pursued druggies and prostitutes, until the progressivist reform in the mid-90’s. Around the same time that “hate crime” had been added as a legitimate charge, laws regarding “vice crimes” had changed as well. Softer drugs had been decriminalized. Prostitution had been legalized and regulated through agencies. Junkies were offered rehab instead of jail time. The end result was a world in which the vice department could pursue  _ real  _ criminals: animal traffickers who sold mammals into physical or sexual slavery, drug dealers like Matilda Leapyear, makers and sellers of nonconsensual pornography, and the like. Taxpayer money wasn’t wasted on jailing poor mammals who’d just gone out back for half a joint, and as a result, more mammals were employable and less likely to commit petty crimes. It wasn’t a perfect system, or police wouldn’t be needed at all, but it was better than it had been; these days, it was almost universally accepted that “morality” couldn’t be legislated, as arbitrary as it was, and crimes were defined by their consequences. 

Mammal trafficking was, in Nick’s opinion, the worst vice crime. It was miles worse than zoicide; at least in zoicide, the victims were dead. In cases like the one he was currently investigating, an unknown number of live victims were being harmed on a daily basis, and it was impossible to find them all. It had a little bit of everything: torture, abuse, sex crimes, forced drug use, occasional extortion, and yes, even murder on occasion. He couldn’t fathom why trafficking belonged to vice instead of major crimes, but he was glad it did. His new department was rock-solid – his assessment of them as a  _ pack  _ hadn’t been far off at all – and major crimes was a disaster, if Horner and Woods were any indication.

Bogo was  _ incensed  _ that at least five mammals had avoided the purge. At least that would be a job for IA when this was all over, and Nick could wash his paws of it.

“Are you ready for this,” asked Rufflich, who was Nick’s designated partner for the initial contact. IT was fairly certain that Beatrice’s cell phone was sending out daily texts from the same address as the current residence for Weston Olive, which was probably Wesley Flamme’s real name. Considering that Olive was a red panda, Wolford had decided that sending in smaller mammals was the way to go, which meant Nick and Rufflich instead of Davis, who was vice’s only goat and stood at over twice Nick’s height  _ sans  _ horns. 

“Let’s do it,” Nick replied, and knocked on the door.

There was movement behind the door and then it opened a crack. A tired-looking red panda stuck his face partway out and asked, “What do you want?”

“Hi,” said Nick, putting a pleasant smile on his face. “Weston Olive, right? This is Detective Ken Rufflich and I’m Detective Nick Wilde. We’re here to ask you a few questions about Beatrice and Beth Stripely.”

Olive looked like he’d seen a ghost. “No, she was joking. I was – I was sure of it.”

“Why don’t you let us in and you can tell us who was joking about what,” Rufflich suggested. 

“I...yeah, come on in.”

Nick was immediately suspicious. He may have been a mid-level acquisitions expert, but Olive was a seasoned criminal. Those types didn’t just stand aside and let detectives into their homes; they weren’t informed enough to offer anything substantial to an investigation, they weren’t rich enough to try to bribe an officer, and they were usually paranoid. As Nick followed Olive inside, he kept his paw on the holster of his tranq gun just in case.

‘Stereotypical’ was the best word to describe the apartment. It wasn’t as bad as Judy’s room at the Grand Pangolin Arms, but it wasn’t exactly a luxury apartment either. The walls were off-white and un-decorated, the blinds hadn’t been dusted for a long time, the couch was either very poorly treated or secondpaw, and the carpet was thin, brown, and raggedy. A faint but cloying stench clung to everything. It was obvious that Olive was a smoker, but he probably used a vaporizer, as it smelled more like sugar than anything. Nick didn’t want to spare a second of his time on pity for a mammal trafficker, but standing in too-large clothes in an apartment that  _ screamed  _ ‘small-time criminal,’ Olive looked pathetic.

“Nice place,” Rufflich murmured insincerely.

“...Thanks?”

“Listen, Weston.” Nick didn’t let his smile drop, even though he felt uneasy. “Normally we’d try to surprise you with our questions, but you know why we’re here. Why don’t you start by telling us what you know, and  _ maybe  _ we’ll be able to swing muzzle time with your daughter.”

Olive seemed to collapse into his couch. “Lizzie’s okay?”

“If by  _ okay  _ you mean stuck in a system that isn’t kind to so-called  _ at-risk species,  _ with a piece of scat caseworker who doesn’t care, because someone beat and kitnapped her mother right in front of her, then yes, she’s okay,” Nick said, trying not to sound cruel. It was a cruel thing to say, and Nick was happy to say it to Olive, but he didn’t have to let on. “You knew what was coming, didn’t you? That’s why you tried to take Beth away from Beatrice.”

“I didn’t want this.” Olive’s voice wavered. “You know, I...I really loved Trixie. It’s why I helped her buy her freedom. I didn’t tell anybody about our cub. I wanted out too! I wanted to give them a life, but...you know how it is, Fox, mammals like us have to go where the money is.”

“If that were true, I wouldn’t be working for the ZPD,” Nick cracked. Rufflich’s cough sounded suspiciously amused. Nick’s tone turned serious. “There is no  _ mammals like us.  _ Where is Beatrice, Weston?”

“She said you’d find me,” Olive told them. “She said it, and I didn’t believe her. I can’t tell you – but I can’t  _ not  _ tell you either – you don’t understand. My life is  _ ruined  _ either way.”

“Yeah, you know who else’s life is ruined? Beth’s. She loves her mom more than anything else in the world, and the mammals you work for  _ took her.” _

“We could always take him down to the station,” offered Rufflich. “I’m sure his superiors wouldn’t be thrilled about that, but it would look better for us. I’m concerned about this third party, too. What if she comes back while we’re here?”

“No, she wouldn’t! She was just looking for a kit for Mr. Big, I swear! Look, she said  _ “Nick Wilde is going to find you, and you’re going to tell him everything, or I’ll come back and hurt you.”  _ If I don’t do what she told me, then Mr. Big probably orders me killed, but if I sell out B – my boss, they order me killed instead! I don’t want a mob war, okay? I just...why did this have to happen to me?”

“Oh, brother.” Rufflich rolled his eyes. “Nothing’s happening to you. You brought this on yourself when you decided mammal trafficking was a great profession. C’mon, Wilde, let’s just get him to the station and let one of our seasoned interrogators take a crack at him.”

“No, wait, I – I know where Trixie is, okay? They keep the nice ones for themselves. I can give you the  _ address,  _ even. Cute little house on Orange Avenue. Street number 620. The money’s gone, I spent it, I realize now that it was wrong. Just don’t...don’t take me in. They’ll kill me.”

“Wait a minute,” Nick said as the ugly pieces fell together. “Beatrice borrowed money from Mr. Big, with your help, to buy her actual freedom...and you  _ stole it?” _

“Not all of it. I swear, I was going to pay them back, but then...they never went after her. She was safe. We moved on into Arcadia and I figured they’d decided it was enough.”

“And did you sleep with her before or after she was her own mammal,” snarled Rufflich. 

“What? Why does that even matter?”

“So he’s a rapist as well as a trafficker,” Nick said darkly. “You want to do the honors?”

“I want to smash his face in, but I’ll settle for putting him in cuffs. Weston Olive, you are under arrest-”

“But you said-”

“We said we needed you to talk,” Nick told him. “We never said talking wouldn’t get you arrested.”

“You have the right to remain silent,” said Rufflich tightly, holding Olive by the arm while he affixed the cuffs to one side before switching. “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one…”

* * *

Unfortunately, warrants took time, especially when the consequences of a raid gone wrong could be huge and possibly violent. In his downtime, when Grizzoli was gently terrorizing Weston Olive in an interview room, Nick “accidentally” left his phone at his desk and knocked on Bogo’s door. It was time to put a plan together and dig his partner out of the hole that she’d unwittingly fallen into.

“Come in,” came Bogo’s voice through the crack. He almost never closed his door, as it was sound-proof and anyone standing outside would never be let in otherwise. But Nick closed the door behind himself, knowing that this conversation was too sensitive to be overheard. Bogo slipped on his glasses and peered at Nick while he was jumping up to reach the top of the chair. “Wilde.”

“Sir,” Nick greeted. “We need to pull Judy out. As soon as possible.”

“What new information do you have for me? Your reports have been somewhat inconclusive.”

Nick nodded. “I know. But I found out what their plan for Judy is once Mr. Big is dealt with. Fangworthy is pursuing her for real, and they don’t want that kind of shame in their records. A rogue agent in prison is a liability. A dead UC, however…”

“Such a shame she got killed in the crossfire,” Bogo agreed, baring his teeth. It was not a pleasant sight. For all his flaws, at least he cared about what happened to his officers, even if he liked to pretend he didn’t care about anything. “How did you come by this information?”

He hesitated. He couldn’t very well say that he had his own hidden camera in the MBI office, but he didn’t have to state that explicitly. “I overheard Fangworthy talking with Root. Sometimes small mammals get in the way, and it’s not anybody’s fault if she gets stepped on.”

Bogo sighed. “I really thought he was better than that. But I suppose some things never really change. What can you tell me about their hierarchy? That was the last assignment I gave to you.”

“It’s looser than you might expect,” Nick told the Chief, sifting through what he’d learned through observation and low-tech spying techniques. “Fangworthy is undoubtedly the leader, and the four agents I’m working with answer to him with no questions. But he’s open to feedback. Sheparton and Root are close partners who agree with each other more often than not. Rivers seems like a free agent within the parameters of her job, but she’s not fond of the ZPD, and I think she’s trying to recruit me. Cervisca won’t answer to anyone but Fangworthy, which pisses off Castleberry, but _ she  _ can go deep throat a grenade. Heather doesn’t do much, just lurks and scopes out whatever spot Fangworthy wants him to scope out. As for Castleberry...she’s definitely working against Fangworthy, but to what end, I have no idea.”

“What else have you found that you haven’t put into your reports?”

“Fangworthy used to live here in Zootopia, and this case is animal to him. I have no proof, but just from listening and checking records, I think Big ordered a hit on his brother when they were young. Everything else – the schedules and basic plans – I already gave to Clawhauser.”

Bogo hummed quietly. Nick felt uncomfortable the longer Bogo said nothing, but this was too important to joke about, so he stayed silent. Finally, the Chief said, “Normally, that recording would be something we’d keep under our hats, but I don’t think we have a choice at this point. If we want Hopps alive, we need Fangworthy to know what Castleberry has been up to, and they’ve been friends for nearly two decades. The word of someone who has admitted he’s in love with Hopps...it’s not going to be enough.”

“I know.” Nick shifted. “How do we keep this from getting buried?”

“Well, first, take Wolford with you. He’s trustworthy, and he’ll be  _ highly  _ motivated to save his friend. Second...do what you have to do. I have plenty of copies of this recording. I’m sure that in the right paws, it would bring more shame to the MBI than keeping Hopps alive. But Wilde, even once we get her back, Hopps won’t come back to the ZPD.”

“What? Why not, if we can clear her name?”

“That video was leaked to the press, probably by someone who was spying for Big. Or perhaps it was just someone who had a grudge against her. Either way, if I allow a murderer back into my ranks, we will look as corrupt as we used to be.” Bogo kneaded his forehead with his hoof. “I won’t pretend it’s fair, but this is bigger than her. It’s bigger than you or me. The city needs to trust the ZPD to do what’s right, and no matter how we explain this, it’s going to look like we pulled an excuse right out from under our tails. I know you care for her, but this is it for her. End of the line.”

“Being a cop is all she’s ever wanted. It’s how she defines herself,” Nick said quietly. “If she loses this, what does she have left?”

“She has her education, she has her qualifications, and she has you,” Bogo replied seriously. “You’re both inventive. If worse comes to worst, I’m sure the media – progressivist and traditionalist alike – will find it  _ very  _ interesting to know what a rogue government official ordered Zootopia’s hero cop to do. You’re both well-liked among most communities here in the city. I imagine it won’t be hard to sway the public opinion with a few words and implications.”

“But...even after that...you won’t hire her back?”

Bogo shook his head. “Not only would I be unable, but also unwilling. She’s given her life to this job, and in return, this job has given her injuries and heartbreak. The next injury she gets might be her last, even if she were cleared by a psychiatrist for duty, which I do not expect would happen in less than a few months. I do not allow my officers to put themselves in reckless danger.”

Nick didn’t think that was fair at all. Shouldn’t it be Judy’s choice? Well...no, not when the outcome of recklessness could be harm or death to innocent civilians. When Judy got desperate, she put her safety below everyone else’s. She was willing to die for causes she believed in. And if she died on the field, the one who killed her would get away. 

_ Put yourself first,  _ she’d told him, but she rarely remembered to do the same.

“I understand, Sir.”

* * *

_ "We have cadavers. We have a perfect John Doe in the morgue. No family, nobody who cares whether or not we hold an ash ceremony. Why can’t we use him?” _

_ “Trust me on this, Kitten. That would be an option if it weren’t for the extenuating circumstances. He wanted to rape you. Why do you even care? You should be begging for this. The Judy Hopps I know and love would-” _

_ “The Judy Hopps you know never existed! I jumped when you said jump because you were so supportive and sweet, and more importantly, the one I reported to. I did as you said because I knew if I didn’t I would never get to live out my dream. Do you have any idea what kind of weight that was? You made me think that you cared for me as an animal...and that if I didn’t love you back, I would scrub out. I was too starry-eyed to see, but that’s not love, it’s blackmail.” _

_ “Says the blackmailer.” _

_ “I’m not perfect, I know that. I’m also not your perfect killing machine. It’s not who I am.” _

_ “Oh, don’t be dramatic. You always were a pill. You are my best legacy, Jude; you had fun back then, and you’ll have fun now. It’s just more training, if it helps. And anyway the only difference between a cadaver and a live mammal is that corpses don’t scream.” _

_ “Do you hear that?” _

_ “Don’t change the subject.” _

_ “No, I hear something...electronic, buzzing...someone’s using their phone near here. If you insist on trying to talk me into this, we should at least go somewhere with a little more protection.” _

Nick watched as Wolford’s face soured line by line and Fangworthy’s expression got darker and darker. Castleberry leaned against the wall, seemingly without a care in the world, but Nick could almost taste the growing tension in the room. This was not the casual meeting Nick had pretended it would be when he’d called it. This was a leap of faith on his part and a chance to prove himself on Fangworthy’s part.

“I don’t remember approving a murder, Agent Castleberry,” Fangworthy said, managing to sound neutral even though his countenance suggested otherwise. “If you’ll remember, that is not my job. We don’t order that kind of thing.”

“You told me to get her onboard and get this done as quickly and quietly as possible,” Castleberry retorted. “Obviously, the best way to do that was to give everyone motivation. We were  _ stalling,  _ Victor. We had no leads, we had  _ one  _ inside mammal who was pushing off her duties because she was  _ scared  _ of what it might do to her...my idea worked. You really should be thanking me.”

“For setting us on a  _ pointless  _ chase?” Fangworthy stalked forward and leaned down to meet Castleberry’s eyes. She didn’t flinch, but that wasn’t surprising. “For making us think our asset was –  _ God,  _ do you have any idea how many resources you’ve wasted? If we’d stuck to the plan,  _ our  _ plan, it would only look like we were pursuing her. Now we’ve got a UC who believes she’s doing what we’ve ordered – has  _ no idea  _ the kind of danger she’s in – and her career is  _ ruined.  _ It’s only because of Wilde that...wait.”

Nick did a horrible job of looking innocent.

“You knew. You knew and you didn’t tell us.”

“I  _ suspected,”  _ Nick lied, “but I had no idea whether you were faking or out to get her or what. When she came to the Mystic Springs Oasis and fought me, I knew something was up, I just couldn’t put my finger on it, until I heard this recording. She didn’t beat me up to give you a  _ threatening  _ message, she was sticking to the mission you gave her. But what was I supposed to say? Hey, Director Fangworthy, I believe that maybe Hopps didn’t snap? Half your team believed that anyway, and my assessments weren’t going to change no matter what. I suspected Heather might be a plant, so it wasn’t like I could share my suspicions with anyone else on the team, even  _ if  _ you’d been trustworthy. After what she said in the sauna…”

“What did she say,” asked Castleberry.

“Oh, come on, do you really think I’m going to tell  _ you  _ what she told me,” he jeered, finding inordinate pleasure in her ire. She’d always had the upper paw, the ace card, but now...now, she was the one with her head on the chopping block, and Nick was fresh out of mercy. “You lied to her. You twisted the truth so well that she had no reason to  _ question  _ it even though she didn’t trust you. You broke her, and you  _ did it on purpose,  _ I’m sure of it.”

Fangworthy’s eyes narrowed. “Is this true, Agent?”

“All right, maybe I did. But look at the results of my little experiment. I made something magnificent,” Castleberry purred, a smile transforming her face. It was disturbing to have confirmation that the thing that made her happiest was ruining others’ lives. “She has no choice now but to do as we hoped she would. Look at the gift I’ve given our government, Victor. A  _ blank slate agent.” _

“That is not the way we do things.”

She snarled. “It’s not the way  _ you  _ do things, you  _ do-gooding hippie.  _ You would have been satisfied putting her into an MBI team and calling it a day, or worse, wasting her on the Secret Service. You’ve always been soft, and that’s why, for all your skills, you got a high-ranking bureaucracy position. I knew she was better than  _ that.” _

“You were never authorized to poach my asset-”

“Judy is a mammal, not an asset,” Nick said fiercely, effectively breaking up their fight. He could feel his anger in his throat and eyes, narrowing the world to the three of them. He wished there were more witnesses to the ugly underside of Mammalia’s  _ shining  _ justice system. “She’s not an item to be fought over. You sent her in there, knowing she would die, either physically or on paper, but you didn’t even bother to give her the  _ choice.  _ She’s depressed and scared and desperate and you took advantage of...I never believed in evil, before now. It was too convenient. But if anything deserves to be called evil, it’s  _ this.” _

“I told you he was cute,” Castleberry commented, and Nick didn’t punch her teeth in because that would mean she’d gotten under his skin. 

“Go get me my bunny, Agent,” said Fangworthy tightly.

“I get to pick my team,” she countered. Nick’s eyes widened involuntarily at her  _ gall. _

“Why would I let you do that?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll let Jude believe everything’s perfectly fine. Paul Largo will order her killed. She’ll defend herself. We’ll find out how many mammals it takes to put down a well-trained agent, and I’ll be able to live with myself. Will you?”

Fangworthy’s growl was so loud that Nick felt it go through him. He made a mental note to never again be alone in a room with the wolf as Fangworthy said, “You’ll be working with Wilde regardless.”

“Naturally. He can’t be part of the arrests when we call our full squad here.”

“And once you’ve brought her back...we are going to have a  _ talk.” _

“Sure, sure.”

“Wait a minute,” Wolford said slowly. To outsiders, he probably sounded confused, but Nick knew that when Wolford got like this, it meant he was furious. He almost never got truly angry, but right now, Nick felt like maybe backing out of the room slowly, and it was only professionalism that kept him still. “Will someone please explain to me why we’re trusting Hopps’ safety to the very mammal who put her in danger in the first place?”

“She answers to me,” Castleberry said smugly, “and only to me. We set it up that way. One line of communication, one set of orders, because she could trust  _ me  _ not to be compromised.”

“You were always planning to set her up,” Wolford accused. “Was this even  _ about  _ organized crime?”

“It’s my job to clean up the filth that others leave behind,” she told him. “It was supposed to be her job, too. I taught her everything. I made sure she was un-killable. Unstoppable. You’ve enjoyed the fruits of my labor up till now, but she doesn’t belong to you. She belongs to the world. She belongs to  _ me.” _

Nick clenched his fist. “If she dies because of your selfish little crusade, I swear to you-”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Wilde, it’s not worth it,” Wolford cautioned.

“We’re going to do the best we can with what we have,” Fangworthy said. “I don’t know if we have all of Big’s hidden assets. I no longer care. We have enough information to get the ball rolling, and that’s Hopps’ end of the deal finished. We can make enough arrests to get the big players off the streets and charge them with whatever we can get to stick. This whole thing is a cluster-rut, Castleberry, and that’s directly your fault. Whoever we miss...whatever information we’ll never be able to complete...that’s on your paws.”

“Yeah, for some reason, I’m okay with that,” she said, and Nick hated her.

* * *

_ Get out of there. Fangworthy et al are coming. _  
_ Arrests imminent. Fangworthy knows you’re ours  _  
_ but 40+ on full squad. This will be my last text._

Nick dismantled the burner phone and kicked it into the sewer grate along the side of the street. 

620 Orange Avenue really  _ was  _ a cute little house. Quaint, set up to house any mammal that wasn’t megafauna, with a wavy stone walkway and clean white pillars on the porch. It would be too bad if such a nice place held such a bad bunch of mammals, but if Olive’s intel was solid, it held the worst kind. He slouched, put his left paw in his pocket, and knocked.

He was dressed in his old yellow Tommy Bapawma shirt and striped tie, going for “casual but well-off.” Not everybody had $200 to shell out for a stupid floral shirt, after all, but those who did usually had nicer pants than Nick’s off-brand Targoat khakis. The outfit had, at one time, been perfectly designed to attract all sorts of mammals; the rich ones focused on his shirt, and the poor ones focused on his pants. This time, he was hoping to sell himself as someone who could afford to purchase a mammal of his very own, but couldn’t afford to be seen at a market. 

Nobody answered the door, even when Nick knocked again. There wasn’t any movement that he could hear. Wolford had managed to get permission to send in a single under-dressed cop to try to minimize violence, but if they weren’t home…

“Open up, ZPD,” he called, knocking a third time. When he reached up to try to open the door, he found it locked. Quietly, he said, “I’m gonna need some muscle for this door. I can barely reach the handle.”

“That’s me,” said Grizzoli cheerfully through their earbuds. “Hang tight, I’m almost there.”

Nick stood to the side and watched as Grizzoli rounded the corner, hurried up the porch stairs, and kicked the door hard enough that one of the hinges came loose.

“Nice,” Nick told him. “Real smooth.”

“Sorry, dude, I have legs like a god. Let’s go.”

Nick drew out his gun and crept cautiously into the dark house. Davis and Rufflich would be watching the back door and waiting for cues, but the hope was that Nick and Grizzoli could at least capture the leader, Bernard No-Last-Name, and anyone in there, as bloodlessly as possible. His ear twitched as he heard muffled cries coming from the back room. Grizzoli took the lead while Nick kept his eyes and nose sharp, but nothing was moving behind them. Aside from whoever was in the back room, the house was empty.

“Oh, scat,” said Grizzoli. “Wilde, you gotta take this one. Davis, call EMS.”

“On it,” Davis replied through the earbud.

Nick peered around Grizzoli’s leg and blanched. There was Beatrice Stripely, gagged and bound on a low table. The fur around her muzzle was matted and crusted, by tears or snot or sweat or...something else, and behind her was a setup Nick didn’t want to look at too closely. He recognized the rubber-and-plastic mouth ring as something a lot of predator couples used in the bedroom, but this was  _ not  _ –

“Hey,” he said softly, focusing on Beatrice instead of the brightly-colored display behind her. “I’m Detective Nick Wilde. We got a tip that you were here. Can I take the gag off you?”

Beatrice nodded, tears forming in her eyes. Nick slowly moved his paws around to the back of her head and undid the straps, pulling the gag out of her mouth as soon as he could. He threw it to the side, disgusted. “Do you know your name?”

“Beatrice,” she spat, “and get these damn ties off me or I  _ swear-” _

“On it, I promise. Just wanted to check in.” He moved behind her to look at the knots. They were too tight, but he could cut them if he found a sharp enough object. “Grizzoli, do you have a knife?”

The bear reached into his pocket and tossed Nick a large oblong object. Nick opened the utility knife and searched for one that would do, addressing Beatrice as he did so. “We’re here because your daughter loves you, Ms. Stripely. She came to us, and – ah, here we go – told us everything she could remember. She’s quite smart.”

“My baby’s alive?” The relief in Beatrice’s voice was heavy. “Beth? She’s okay?”

“And she’ll be even better once she can see you again. We’ve got an ambulance on the way, and we’re going to set up a time she can come see you once you’ve been examined and taken care of.”

“You have to get him,” she said desperately. “Bernard. You have to get him. You have to stop him.”

“And we’re going to,” he soothed, unbuttoning his shirt. He was wearing an under-shirt anyway. “Here, put this on. It doesn’t do much, but…”

“I’m not a prude.” Her paw closed around the fabric anyway. “...But thanks.”

“Can you walk?”

“I...no, I don’t think so.” Her face closed. “Oh my God. They left. They left, they weren’t coming back, and I...I thought I was going to die alone.”

Grizzoli stepped in and picked up Beatrice, making sure to cover most of her with his large arm. Nick didn’t look at the shelf, which amounted to a torture rack, because that was a job for the CSI’s, and frankly, the smell was making him sick. He’d look at the photos, and he’d come back after the sniffers had done their jobs if they needed him, but right now, he had to get back to the station. He had an important phone call to make.

* * *

The brick against Nick’s back was hot and uncomfortable, but he didn’t want to make this call inside the station. He didn’t really want to go into the station at all. He was itchy with nervous energy. 

It had taken some cajoling, but Nick was good with words, and finally, Vanessa Appleton relented; Nick was to call the group home Beth was staying in while Appleton scheduled things with the hospital, and while it didn’t seem like protocol, he was going to take it. Appleton clearly had issues. Beth sounded sad when she came to the phone, but Nick knew that this call would cheer her up.

“Hey, Beth,” he said, pitching his tone to sound happier than he was. He had a feeling that scene at 620 Orange Avenue would stay with him, and he wasn’t sure why. “It’s Detective Wilde, from the ZPD.”

“Oh. Hi, Mister Officer Nick Wilde. How are you?”

He felt a grin creep across his face despite his rough day. “The better question is how’s your mom?”

“She – you found my mama?”

“We did, and she wants to see you. Once the doctors say so, Miss Appleton is going to take you to see her. You did really well, Beth. Without the stuff you told us, it might have taken us longer to find her.”

He winced as he heard crying over the line. He hadn’t meant to make her  _ cry.  _ In a whispering sob, she told him, “Thank you!”

“Um.” How did one cheer up a cub when she really should have been cheered up in the first place? “You’re welcome. I think she’s gonna be okay. Are you?”

“Yeah.” She sniffed. “I have to go put my things in my bag! As soon as Mama gets out I have to take care of her at home! Bye, Mister Officer Nick Wilde!”

The call dropped. Well, that had gone...about as well as could be expected. He still wished Appleton had given Beth the news, but on the other paw, at least Nick knew how to be somewhat nice about it. Appleton probably just would have grabbed Beth’s paw and dragged her to the hospital.

Or maybe that was uncharitable. Nick wasn’t inclined to care much.

He couldn’t put it off any longer. He had to write his report and check in with Wolford, and after, he needed to check in with Castleberry. It seemed that no matter which department Nick worked from, the work never ended. Sighing, he headed in through the front door, preparing to head left to his cubicle. Before he could, however, Clawhauser – finally back at the front, where he belonged – called him over.

“Hey, Wilde! You have a visitor.”

He curiously approached Clawhauser’s desk and looked around. He felt a tug at the bottom of his pants and looked down, down, down, until he saw the surprising visitors.

“Nicky? I got a statement to make, and I gotta give that statement to you right now,” said Francesca Largo, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. Little Judy gave him the same watery look and gripped her mother’s paw tightly. “Please. It can’t wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for what really is the penultimate chapter (chapter 19 will be an epilogue). In chapter 17, we’ll see Judy’s fate, Castleberry’s punishment, and a teensy glimpse of the progression of the vice case Nick helped immensely by finding Wesley Flamme/Weston Olive and Beatrice Stripely. I’m so excited for what happens to Castleberry, because it’s a hobby of mine to design personal hells.


	17. Crime and Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy proves that she still inspires loyalty. The Tundratown tunnelway is useful. While Fangworthy and his team pursue Mr. Big for what will hopefully be the last time, Nick breaks protocol, because who cares what the Ocelot thinks. The hammer comes down and the truth comes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I’d be able to sneak in a peek at the other investigation, but there was no place to fit it in organically, so that will have to go in chapter 18. As such, this chapter is shorter than I expected it to be, and 18 will be longer.

For Fru-Fru and Judy Largo, Nick was apparently the last line of defense, though he couldn’t imagine why. He was only allowed to do the interview because Fangworthy wasn’t about to let a veritable mine of information get away. Interview room D felt cavernous with the small witnesses sitting on the top of a small flowerpot borrowed from the utility closet.

“What’s this about,” Nick asked.

“First, I gotta say that I love my daddy. He was my hero ever since my mother died. He always looked so cool and commanded so much power, and I loved that. I gotta say that because you know, Daddy always said family first. He had my brother killed because of that. Seems kind of, ah...whatsit...counterintuitive, right? Killin’ your own son for the family business? Well, that’s what I gotta do. Put  _ my  _ family first. And that includes Judy,  _ our  _ Judy.”

Nick watched her fiddle with her tiny paws. This was huge. “What do you mean?”

“I  _ mean _ that lately my daddy’s been makin’ all sorts of weird decisions. Sendin’ mammals out to look at nothing. He wanted the godmother of my child to risk her life killin’ mammals who maybe crossed him. I keep tellin’ him he’s gone senile, but he just won’t retire. And then Judy gets a text on a blank phone. She takes a deep breath and says  _ it’s over, I’m free,  _ and takes off. But she doesn’t run back to the ZPD. She doesn’t run back to the fox she loves. So I’m thinkin’ maybe she isn’t planning to. I saw her go downhill, and when I took her to my daddy I hoped he’d give her a real job. Chasin’ down bad guys like she did when she was workin’ with you. Shakin’ em down, maybe, if it came to it. But he gave her a gun and told her to kill! You don’t come back from that. So...in light of how my daddy’s been actin’ and the danger to Little Judy’s godmother, I gotta do what I gotta do.”

“You’d betray your family for this,” Nick said, trying to form a question and failing.

“I’m my father’s daughter, you know. I know when to wait and when to pounce. I want this business. I  _ earned  _ it through years of work after he took my big brother away from me. I wanna take it all straight, especially with my daughter growin’ up and talkin’ about careers. Whatever you’re missing, I’ll tell you the rest. I know everything about the family business. I been collectin’ evidence for years, waitin’ for a chance to use it, passin’ what I could to my contact in the ZPD. All I want you to do is make sure Judy doesn’t do anything stupid.”

His stomach plummeted as he realized her meaning. “Where is she, Fru?”

“I don’t know. The fish market, probably. She spends a lotta time there.”

She wouldn’t be at the fish market, but Nick knew a place very close to the fish market that made a perfect hideaway. It made sense that she’d be there. “Thank you. If I go and get her, can you give the rest of your statement to my superior officer? Fangworthy is bigger than I am, but he’s actively in charge of the case.”

“Nicky, I’ll give my statement to a potted plant if it means you pull Judy back from wherever she thinks she’s goin’. Get your tail in gear already.”

He had a choice to make. Technically, he was supposed to work with Castleberry to find Judy, but he was fairly certain he knew where she was, and he didn’t want any more poison to find its way into Judy’s life, not at a critical time like this. No, it was better if he went alone. But he couldn’t break protocol either.

...Or could he? There was nothing in the rules that said misdirection wasn’t allowed if it got the job done.

* * *

The fish market was even colder this time around. Even with a fluffy coat around his shoulders and his natural fur protecting him, the chill bit into his skin from his ears to his toes. Castleberry trudged beside him, her rounded triangular ears tucked beneath a thick cap. Against the snow, she was striking, and Nick hated her a little bit for it. She was built for seduction. How many other mammals had she hurt with the same tricks? How many other Judys had there been before Judy?

What was so important about her, anyway? Nick was biased toward her, because they’d worked together and been friends for years and he loved her so much it sometimes hurt, but she wasn’t the kind of special that made someone like  _ Castleberry  _ take notice. She was prey, a trait the ocelot clearly despised. She was her own mammal, so dedicated to doing the right thing that she was willing to bend rules – a useful trait, sure, but not unique to her. She wasn’t the prettiest mammal in the world. Hell, she wasn’t even the prettiest Hopps. She was stubborn and resourceful and willing to question orders as a general rule. 

(Why hadn’t she questioned Castleberry?)

“Welcome to the fish market,” Nick said, pitching his voice like a salesmammal or a carnival barker. “A wonderful place full of fish...and money. You’ll love it here. Cats like fish, right? Is that a thing? Am I being speciesist? Are you-”

“Are you  _ trying  _ to piss me off,” she asked, sounding annoyed. Score one for the fox.

“Who, me?  _ Never.  _ Why would I try to piss off the mammal who ruined my best friend’s life?”

She grabbed him by the front of his jacket. She wasn’t stupid enough to kill him, or even hurt him, but he tensed up anyway. “I can think of six ways to permanently incapacitate you without breaking a sweat. Would you like to continue down this road, Wilde?”

“Switch cursor to yes,” he cracked. 

“You’re a real piece of shit.” She let go and shoved him, much more gently than he would have expected. “It’s your lucky day, though. This market is huge and my Jude probably isn’t here.”

“So, what, you go this way, I go that way?” He pointed his thumbs in opposite directions. “Do you really think it’s wise to split up?”

“No, and now that you’re practically daring me to, definitely not. But we don’t have a choice. I can’t trust you to lead me to her, but I can trust you to find her. And you’ll finally understand,” she said confidently. “When the chips are down, she’ll follow me. She can’t help it. I made her.”

“You didn’t, though,” he said, and he finally  _ did  _ understand. “You can’t make mammals. That’s not how it works. You can try to tear them down. You can try to erase who they were and overwrite your own ideals onto this “blank slate,” but it only works if they let you or you have enough time to break them. And maybe you hurt her, but she didn’t break. That’s not who she is, or she’d have been broken long before you ever met her. That’s really what this is about, isn’t it? You don’t want her specifically, you want to finish what you started. Judy finished training without becoming your carbon copy, and you couldn’t bear for her to be anything else. You want to own your trainees, but this one wanted to be loved, and I bet you even  _ tried,  _ but it didn’t work. You can’t love anyone but yourself.”

“Go find my bunny,” she echoed, tapping his nose, “and maybe I’ll let you get in a goodbye kiss.”

That settled it. He’d have to make sure Judy got to the station before Castleberry ever knew he’d found Judy. She was right, of course; if they’d stayed together, he would have led her in circles before ever allowing her to get to Judy. But Judy was in some kind of trouble, and he’d be damned before he’d just walk around waiting for it to happen.

Once the ocelot was a safe distance away, Nick crept toward the tunnelway, looking around every so often to make sure that she wasn’t following him. It served to make him look a little shifty, but in a place like this, that didn’t matter. Nobody saw anything if they didn’t make money off the tip. Castleberry was careful to wear enough scentblock for her perfume to cover her natural scent – presumably so that her enemies wouldn’t be able to sniff her out – but perfume wasn’t common in Zootopia, and he’d be able to tell if she came closer. He was safe to duck into the tunnelway.

And then he had to take a moment to breathe.

He hadn’t been there since the murder, back when they’d been pursuing “Jack Savage.” It was only a trick of his brain, but he could still smell the blood, see the arterial spray under Pawlish’s razor-tipped nails, hear the ocelot’s choking and mewls of pain and terror. He could hardly move his legs, and the air felt thinner – was it thinner? Definitely thinner – and the walls of the tunnelway were closing in –

Deep breath. It wasn’t real, and he wasn’t going to break down in the middle of his search for his wayward partner. Mammals died all the time. Some of them were murdered. Some scatmouthed ocelots  _ deserved  _ to die, and Nick...had done his job. He hadn’t shot Pawlish, but that had been for the best. He had done the best he could in a situation he hadn’t prepared for. He  _ would not  _ feel guilty for someone else’s actions.

Deep breath.

Deep breath.

After texting Clawhauser for a  _ discreet  _ pickup, Nick followed his nose. Judy either hadn’t had time or hadn’t bothered to hide her scent, and he was still so familiar with it that it took him no time at all to make his way through the tunnels and to...well. He’d never told her where he’d made his nest while on the run from Mr. Big, but she had made it her own. It was almost tranquil; the tunnel had rusted enough that there was sunlight shining down through the thick glass beneath the shallows, giving her nest the look of an aquarium rather than a dank abandoned maintenance station. She had two sets of clothes neatly folded and stored in the open tool box, a small lunchbox-sized cooler, and two folded blankets under a pillow, which she was sitting on, staring at a stuffed fox she’d propped up on the wall across from her. Hugging her shins and sitting as still as she was, he might have missed her, had he not been looking.

Her ear swiveled when he approached, but she didn’t look at him. Fortunately, she didn’t move toward her gun, either, which was resting halfway between her toes and the doll. Deciding to ignore it for now, he asked, “Cripes, Judy, have you been  _ living  _ here?”

“Mr. Big doesn’t let his assets live in-house. It’s too dangerous,” she replied, hiding her face in her knees. “I kept telling myself I’d find a real place, but then there were always reasons not to. What if my alias doesn’t hold up. What if someone recognizes me.”

“What if you have creature comforts and forget for one second that you had to murder someone.” He crept closer. “I get it.”

“Not just one. There are three other mammals that we had to make disappear; they  _ might  _ be able to return to their lives, but maybe not. And I found Kit. Or I found her body.”

“Hey, that’s not your fault, though,” he soothed. The distance was still too far. She didn’t seem inclined to do much but curl up, but he had no idea if that gun was loaded, or if she intended to use it, or on whom. “You  _ found  _ her. There was no guarantee that you would find her alive. You know how this works.”

“She died because of me, you know. Because I was taking too long, and he knew that killing  _ you  _ would be a red flag, but hurting someone  _ else _ I cared for, someone I considered my  _ friend, _ and then graciously allowing me to use his resources to find her...all the while, she was literally under my feet. Did he tell her why she was being iced? Did she die hating me? Or did she just die scared and alone without a reason at all? I just want this to be over, Nick. I want it to stop.”

“It  _ is  _ over.” Just a few more feet. Just a little farther and he could take her gun. 

“No, it’s not. It won’t ever be over. I’m never going to  _ not  _ see her bloated, floating corpse. I’m never  _ not  _ going to hear his screaming, it was...I’ve heard mammals die before, on the farm, but now it’s  _ there,  _ it’s always there. This constant scream. He wasn’t just afraid to die, he was afraid of me.  _ I’m  _ afraid of me. I keep telling myself,  _ do it,  _ just kill yourself, get it over with, but then who will pay for what happened to Kit Graham and Mal Coates? And I couldn’t do it, knowing that it would hurt you.” 

“This is  _ not  _ your fault. Paul Largo killed Kit, and Katie Castleberry ordered the hit on Coates. She shouldn’t have. She’s in deep trouble for it. You aren’t, not anymore.”

“So it was  _ unnecessary,”  _ she asked shrilly. She moved suddenly, grabbing her gun and pointing it at him so quickly and fluidly that he almost didn’t understand how it had happened. “I trusted her! She – she told me –  _ no,  _ it can’t have been – I swear to you, if you come any closer I’ll…”

He stopped and put his paws up. “Shoot me?”

“No.” She put her gun to her own head, then pointed it at him again. “Maybe. No. Non-fatally? I’m tired, okay? I’m tired and I don’t want to hurt you but I can’t trust myself anymore, if I’m capable of all of  _ this  _ then how long is it before I do it for real? And it didn’t have to happen...all I had to do was just – there weren’t any good options and there wasn’t even a right thing to do and I can’t – this isn’t…”

As soon as she lowered the gun, Nick took the opportunity to shoot her. She looked at him, uncomprehending, before slumping forward. He raced to catch her before she fell off the tool shelf, and picked her up carefully. He’d send someone else back to get her things. Right now, he needed to evade Castleberry’s notice long enough for a pickup and get Judy to safety. The tranq dart sticking out of her chest almost seemed accusatory, but she was unstable. He’d done the right thing for both of them. He had to believe that.

By the time he’d carried her out of the tunnelway, Fangmeyer was waiting, arms crossed across their chest. “You had to tranq her? Was she that dangerous?”

“Only to herself.” 

“So she didn’t threaten you?”

“No,” he lied, keeping his voice quiet. Judy wouldn’t wake until the tranquilizer wore off, but it seemed better to whisper anyway.

Fangmeyer laughed sadly. “Guess you’re still her biggest weakness.”

Nick laid Judy’s body on the back seat. He would hold her paw the whole way, even though she wouldn’t know. “Listen, Captain, I know she looks like a murderer. I know the whole story, though, and hopefully everyone else will soon. The responsible parties will be punished, but she’s not one of them. That, I can promise.”

“I hope you’re right, Wilde. I really liked her,” said Fangmeyer, and Nick didn’t text Castleberry with an update until they were halfway back to the station.

* * *

It was with great reluctance that Nick allowed Judy to be tucked into a cell bed, but he had to admit that it was the most reliable way to keep her safe and contained if she awoke before he got back. With a trusted officer posted just outside of her cell, she would be updated. Nick just hoped that he could get this over with before she did wake up. The last thing she needed was to think that she was being punished. She was already punishing herself enough.

Castleberry had stormed into the station fifteen minutes after Nick’s arrival with Fangmeyer and Judy. She was furious that he’d gone behind her back, but considering everything, even Director Fangworthy believed that Nick had made the right call. She and Fangworthy were waiting on Nick in the MBI office, supposedly to discipline Nick for going behind her back, but in reality, to get things sorted out with her. Technically, Nick didn’t need to be there, but he wanted to be, and Fangworthy had agreed to allow it. Nick suspected it was a safety precaution, so that Castleberry wouldn’t just end up dead.

“Finally,” she said as soon as he pushed open the door. “I can’t believe you had the guts to lock her up after you  _ shot  _ her.”

“And I can’t believe you had the guts to betray your favorite protégé  _ and  _ your superior  _ and  _ your government, but here we are,” he returned. “United in disbelief.”

“Settle down,” Fangworthy said with a sigh. “This meeting is private, but it is not a debate.”

Nick clammed up. Castleberry leaned against the wall again. He wondered if she did it to look relaxed, or because she was too paranoid to leave her back exposed.

“I’ve managed to piece together the chain of events that led us here, and I do not like what I see. I expect  _ professionalism  _ from my agents. What I’ve seen here from you, Castleberry, is the opposite. You took  _ my  _ asset and warped the job. You wasted resources. You lied to Hopps, to me, and to everyone you spoke with. I understand that you believe you’ll get away with it, because you always do. Not anymore.”

“Please, you can’t do anything to me,” said Castleberry with a roll of her eyes. “I don’t really belong to your department. You know that.”

Fangworthy growled for the second time that day. Probably due to all of the added stress, it sent a primal terror through Nick, something he hadn’t felt since they’d been pursued by a savage jaguar all those years ago. The skin under his fur burned and his tail bristled. “You forget that you’re speaking with the head of the Justice Department. You may be a slick little asset, but you are still a citizen who has  _ betrayed your government.” _

“Right. Yeah. So what will you do, Vic? Lock me up until the next time they need me to break somebody’s neck? That’ll be worth taxpayer money.”

His mouth curled into a sinister smile. “You’re the best, Agent Castleberry. You’ve never made mistakes...well, except for one. That little issue in the Eastern Savanna.”

Nick had the absolute  _ pleasure  _ of watching Castleberry’s confidence fall. Her eyes bugged. Her sensual smile slipped. He didn’t know exactly why this was so important – he could barely remember where the Eastern Savanna was  _ located –  _ but her reaction was satisfying, to say the least. “No.”

“I’ve been sitting on a motion to extradite since you began your little side project with  _ my  _ recruits, hoping I wouldn’t need to file it, but I’ve realized there’s a simpler way to solve this. An aid mission. You wouldn’t say no to the very kind of job that keeps you out of prison in the first place, would you?”

_ “No!  _ I won’t – I swear to whatever gods you believe in, I  _ will not  _ get on a plane to that shithole. Do you know what they  _ do  _ to predators? That’s why I was  _ there!  _ To extract a fucking –  _ I will not be leashed.” _

And Nick remembered what the Eastern Savanna  _ was.  _ They’d been embroiled in a civil war for almost ten years before the prey-controlled government had put a swift end to predator uprisings by affixing shock collars to every predator in the country. It had been Dawn Bellwether’s inspiration for her own final plans, which fortunately had never come to fruition. The prisons in that country were horrifying, and if Castleberry had made a mistake big enough for them to call for her return  _ by name… _

He tried to feel some sort of sympathy, but he wasn’t Judy. He did not look for the best in mammals. Castleberry deserved everything she got. She’d dug her own grave – and might be forced to literally do that, once she touched down in the Eastern Savanna – and now she had to lie in it.

She eyed the door. It was Fangworthy’s turn to roll his eyes. “Don’t run, Katrina. It won’t end well.”

“Everybody says I’m the best,” she retorted, shifting to the balls of her feet. Nick tensed with her. “I’ll kill everyone you send after me.”

“Even Judy Hopps?”

_ “Especially  _ her! She was supposed to be mine, and you know it. But I’m done here. Do your worst, Victor. I’d rather die.”

Before she even reached the door, Nick drew his tranq gun and fired his last dart into her, only just catching her flank. She was  _ fast. _ A few seconds passed and they heard a  _ thump  _ in the hallway. His paws were steady, and he didn’t feel as though he’d done something wrong by taking her down.

“Nice shot,” Fangworthy commented. “For a minute I thought we’d have to rely on one of my bears in the hallway.”

“Thanks,” Nick replied, feeling a little chastised for some reason. He hesitated, and then asked, “What was that, about aid missions keeping her out of prison?”

“Some mammals come to us because they want to serve and protect. Others are assigned  _ to  _ us because they are better used as assets than wasted in a cell. Hopps was the former. Castleberry was the latter. She provided us with significant foreign intelligence when she sought amnesty, in exchange for her services in rescue missions and dangerous jobs that were...too violent for anyone else.” The wolf sighed. “She was expendable, not that her ego would allow her to believe that. I had hoped to rehabilitate her, but it was a failed effort. And now it’s time for the  _ real  _ hard part. Once we’ve secured this one, we have to go deal with Hopps.”

* * *

Judy was still asleep when Nick arrived at her cell, but she was showing signs of waking. He gathered her in his arms again, ignoring the weird look that the guard gave him, and began carrying her to Chief Bogo’s office. They’d decided it would be a quiet meeting in a familiar place; Fangworthy and Rivers would be there to represent the MBI, Nick would be there because they’d have to shoot him to get him to leave, Fangmeyer would be there on behalf of Judy’s former department, Wolford would be there as support for his friend and his subordinate, and Bogo would be there because Nick and Judy were  _ his officers, dammit. _

“...don’t blame you for what happened, Wolford,” Rivers was saying quietly when Nick walked in. Fangmeyer shut the door behind him, as he still had Judy in his arms.

“Then why did you say you did?”

“I was angry and childish. I wanted her death to be  _ somebody’s  _ fault, and you were there.  _ I  _ promised her parents I’d bring her home safely. I don’t want you to think I left because of you. I just couldn’t take the guilt anymore.”

“Good, you’re here,” said Fangworthy, cutting through the embarrassingly private conversation. In a room of three wolves, one buffalo, and one tiger, all of whom were imposing, Nick had never felt so small. Judy was even smaller. He didn’t want to let go of her, but it was obvious that she’d been awake for a couple of minutes, and she needed to stand on her own feet for this. It would be good for her in the long run.

She looked around at the quiet spectators and hugged herself, waiting for the recriminations.

“I think you know why we’re all here, Hopps,” Fangworthy said.

She nodded. “Because of the way we – the way  _ I  _ dealt with the assignment. I did it all wrong.”

“I don’t know if we can say that. We got what we were looking for, or at least most of it. But you should have come to  _ me  _ to verify your assignment before going off half-cocked and killing someone,” Fangworthy told her.  _ What?  _ He knew very well that she’d been told by her superior officer that she  _ wasn’t  _ to go to him.

“I know.” Judy dropped her head, unable to look at anyone. “I was stupid and irresponsible.”

Nick frowned, annoyed with her capitulation. “Wait a second,  _ no.  _ Judy, tell the truth. You followed orders from your boss. You did what you were supposed to do. Don’t...don’t take responsibility for  _ Castleberry’s  _ machinations.”

“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if I was ordered, it doesn’t matter if I did the right thing or the wrong thing. Kit is dead. Malcolm Coates is dead. I did that. She’s dead because of me, and I killed him. I put my gun to his head and pulled the trigger. He deserved to die, but I shouldn’t have been the one to kill him, because...I wanted him dead after all he did. He should have faced _real_ justice. Not summary execution. It’s my fault, Nick, it’s _my fault,_ and nothing you can say...it’s my...I did that.”

And then her eyes welled up with tears, right there in front of everyone. Nick recoiled. Judy didn’t cry on the job. She whooped with glee, she got serious, she kicked some serious tail, and she occasionally let her eyes water to fool a criminal, but she only cried when they were off-duty and she didn’t have to worry about the professional consequences of vulnerability. But there she was, exhausted and guilty, being chastised before what had to look like an unforgiving audience, and all she could do was cry. 

When she dropped to her knees, Nick was there to catch her and pet her ears, unwilling to worry about what anyone else thought. She was his partner, his best friend, and he wasn’t going to let her suffer alone anymore. 

While Nick held Judy, Fangworthy continued his dressing down, although Nick detected a hint of remorse in his tone. “Wilde isn’t wrong about you following orders, exactly as you were trained to do. I assigned you to former Agent Castleberry, assuming your history would not affect your work. It backfired, and that’s on me. She set you up to fail. You trusted your superior officer and she betrayed you. Your supervisor was irresponsible, Hopps, and because of that, a mammal died. Although you pulled the trigger, you are not truly the one to blame, and in light of everything, we have a deal for you.”

“A deal?” She rubbed her eyes and looked up at Fangworthy. “What kind of  _ deal  _ could make any of this okay?”

“You will be treated for a minimum of three months at an inpatient facility. You will attend every therapy session and take any medication they prescribe, unless it poses a direct threat to your health or safety. Once you are cleared by your doctor  _ and  _ your therapist, you will not be returning to the ZPD. If you choose to continue in law enforcement, you will be working for the MBI, mostly behind a desk...unless we need you for a quiet operation. In any case, all orders will go through official channels. You’ll answer to me, preferably, but I am not always available. I run a big department. I delegate. You’ll know if and when I do, and to whom.”

“So you want me to become Katie Castleberry,” she said bitterly.

“No. I want you to be  _ better  _ than Katie Castleberry. She was an irreparably damaged mammal who fixated on you. You have a better temperament.” Fangworthy’s tone softened completely. “This is a chance at a new life, Hopps. You’ll be able to work from our remote office right here in Zootopia, coordinating local operations focusing mostly on white collar crimes. It won’t be glamorous, but you’ll be able to do exactly what you’ve always wanted to do: help make the world a better place.”

“So, what, I just...go to therapy and work a desk job, and all is forgiven?” She shook her head. “I deserve to be punished for what I did.”

“You  _ are  _ being punished. The DA agrees that if you went to prison for a murder you thought was a legitimate order from your superior officers, you would either be killed or end up running the place, and neither is an outcome that would help anyone. You’re not a run risk, you’re a suicide risk. Take the deal, Hopps. Prison would not be a punishment for you, and society would not benefit from having you behind bars.”

“I feel like that shouldn’t be allowed to happen. That can’t be a real thing. And black ops is  _ not me. _ I can’t execute someone again on orders, I just  _ can’t.”  _ Her voice broke on the last word and Nick petted her ears again.  _ Finally,  _ she relaxed into him. “I can’t.”

“And you won’t,” Fangworthy told her. “Our mistake with Castleberry was calling her back from those operations and expecting her to come home and do regular duties. She was very careful to say all the right things to our on-staff psychologist. We won’t make that mistake again with  _ any  _ of our assets. When I say quiet assignments, I mean it. Sneaking around and listening. That’s a fraction of your skill set, but it’s all we will require.”

“Take the deal,” Nick murmured into her ear. “Don’t leave me behind.”

It was a cheap shot, but an effective one. She nodded, seeming to gather strength from his words. “Okay. I...I accept those terms, as long as I can see them in writing.”

It was going to be hard going forward, at least for a while. Judy would have some serious work to do to recover – not just from recent events, but from past issues she’d stubbornly refused to deal with – but at the end of the day, he wouldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t lose his place at the ZPD. And she would never, ever lose him. They didn’t have to run or hide anymore, and they never would. 

They were finally free of Mr. Big, they were finally free of this stupid assignment, and they could move on, one step at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit, I did play with the idea of allowing Judy to come back to the ZPD, but then I realized that there’s just no way. It’s not about how the public will perceive it, or whether she can get through her psychiatric treatment. At this point, she believes she needs to be punished, and this fake punishment will a) help with the guilt, and b) make her less likely to rush through therapy with the “right answers” just to get back to her job. Plus, I’ve made it a point to show that her reckless pursuit of justice has given her serious injuries that still hurt even after a couple of years, and at the ZPD she’d be benched after a year, maybe 2 at most. With the MBI, her specific job will be heavy on investigation and light on physical pursuit. Or she could not be a cop and do something else. She has a degree in criminal justice and plenty of skills. Who knows?


	18. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Nick settles into his new groove and proves his worth as a wordsmith, Judy works to get her life back. Beatrice Stripely sees justice done, Mr. Big is arraigned and charged, and things do get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last full chapter. The epilogue should be up within a few days, if I can edit the mess I wrote in the beginning. This chapter might be hard to read because some of it deals with healing – which, as you may already know, is not a quick or easy process, and is sometimes never quite over – and a good portion of it deals with taking down a trafficking ring, and all that entails. This chapter was hard to write. It is honestly the hugest stretch I’ve ever done and I’m both proud of and horrified by how it turned out. 
> 
> I want the epilogue to stand on its own, so my closing thoughts are at the bottom of this chapter.

**1**

Time stops and starts again. Adjust your eyes, open your mouth, swallow, stick out your tongue. It’s macaroni tonight, according to the smell. You hate macaroni. Or not. You don’t really hate anything. Nick hates macaroni. He says it tastes like laziness and broken dreams. He’s probably eating something nicer. He’s probably doing well. Without you. He has real friends at work now. You don’t have any friends. Nobody likes you. You don’t deserve to be liked.

“Come on, Judy,” says the raccoon in the gray sweater, and you blink. Judy’s your name. Is he talking to you? Why are you standing by the bookshelf?

“What,” you say. You sort of remember saying it a different way, but remembering is hard. Everything slips away from you, hidden behind the big white wall of – what were you thinking about?

“It’s your turn to see the doctor.”

Moving your legs is a chore, but you think you remember someone saying you had to see a doctor or something bad would happen. The raccoon walks away, and you try to follow, but it’s like trying to swim through tree sap and he has to come back twice. He says something. It sounds like bubbles.

There’s a door. Why is there a door? Weren’t you just in the common room?

“-send her in,” says somebody from inside the room. Her voice is nice.

The hare frowns at you, and you want to frown back but your face feels weird, like it won’t follow commands. How did you get here? She opens her mouth. There are words. “-Gonna need something from you. This isn’t following treatment.”

“Who are you,” you ask. Your voice sounds odd, like it’s been cracked down the middle.

The frown deepens. “You don’t remember who I am? Judy, I’m your doctor. I told you to call me Scarlett.”

“Like the color red.”

“Yes, like – what day is it today?”

You shrug. It doesn’t matter.

“Who’s the President?”

You know this one. “One who presides over a.”

The thought is lost. That’s okay. You just want to sleep anyway.

The hare (Red?) sighs and rubs her forehead. “How long have you been having brain fog?”

You shrug. It doesn’t matter.

“Well, obviously this medication is a no-go, if it’s interfering with your cognitive process. I know this is hard, but I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on. I need you to communicate with me.”

Communicate. Yeah. Nick likes that. He doesn’t like macaroni, though. “It’s macaroni tonight. I can smell it.”

“That was lunch,” says the hare gently. “It made you sick, remember?”

You shrug. It doesn’t matter.

* * *

Her scent didn’t linger. With as few belongings as she had and as little time she’d spent at the apartment, it was to be expected, but it somehow still felt wrong to wake up without a single hint of her in view. Life was busy, though, and the few moments between waking up and morning coffee were getting easier to deal with. She’d be back, and she’d be _better._

He wasn’t on her list of approved visitors, but Bonnie assured him that it wasn’t because she didn’t want to see him, but because she was...off. Something about medication and cognitive impairment, or...at that point in the conversation, Stu had begun crying, and Bonnie had tried to shush him, and Nick had been called into the station, and then they’d been called back to the farm. They had 300 other children and a business to take care of.

Even without Judy, though, things were okay. Nick was working a night shift now, since most of his assignments were “night life” cases. Weston Olive’s testimony, and Beatrice Stripely’s input, had been invaluable, and Nick’s team was getting closer and closer Bernard and his accomplices. The vacuum created by the arrest of Matilda Leapyear and her associates had been filled by smaller-time dealers and suppliers, and they were slowly but surely making their mark on the ZPD records. Soon, the department would have enough information to go after them. Nick went out to the Barrel with the other mammals on the vice squad sometimes, and he had even been able to stop looking at his phone every five seconds hoping for a magical update. Beth had sent him a letter informing him that if she couldn’t design for Preyda when she grew up, she wanted to be a police officer.

(He had that letter attached to his fridge via a carrot-shaped magnet, right next to Will’s drawing of Judy with all of her old neighbors.)

He wasn’t happy, precisely, but it didn’t feel like loss or loneliness anymore. He wasn’t afraid, because the only danger Judy was currently in was maybe getting scratched by a spork, and danger was inherent in law enforcement, but he knew he could count on his fellow officers to watch his back as much as he had counted on Judy. The paperwork was still murder, though. And it was less fun when Davis and Rufflich didn’t stick around to make jokes about his “old mammal” penmanship.

He was just winding down a report about the most _ridiculous_ tip from a conspiracy theorist (seriously? _Evil sheep?_ It wasn’t 2016 anymore) when he got a call from an unknown number. He hesitated, then pressed “talk.” After all, it wasn’t impossible that one of Judy’s siblings would be calling him. “This is Nick.”

“Hello, is this Nick _Wilde?”_

“Yeah,” he said warily.

“Oh, good, I wasn’t sure we had the number right. I’m Amy Green, from River Valley Hospital. We have a patient here who wanted to add you to her list of approved contacts, but…”

“But _what?”_ He rolled his eyes. “I know you’re talking about Judy. She’s my...best friend.”

He’d go with that for now. He wasn’t sure if he could still say they were together, without knowing what Judy thought about it, but he was planning to keep that promise to stay with her always.

“Patients don’t always know reality from fantasy. I needed to confirm that you are who she says you are,” Amy told him apologetically. “Only outgoing calls are allowed, but visiting hours are from noon to three every day. You’re welcome to come visit her. I think she’d like that.”

It was just after noon. If he took the train to the Rainforest District, he’d be able to get there by 1:30. “I’ll, uh...I’ll be there today. Tell Judy I’ll be there.”

She laughed. “I’ll do that, Mr. Wilde.”

 _“Detective,”_ someone said in the background. It was probably Judy. The thought made him smile. Even in an inpatient treatment facility, she was standing up for his good name.

* * *

River Valley Hospital was the only hospital in the Zootopia area that catered specifically to small mammals, and the hospital in the Tri-Burrows didn’t do inpatient, so Judy had checked in two weeks ago after a short stint at Zootopia Regional to treat a nasty infected gash on her leg that she had sustained sometime between seeing him at the Oasis and finally returning to the station. They had started her on some anti-depressant during her stay at ZR, and by the time she’d transferred to RV, it had already taken root in her system, apparently.

The tech told him to tread lightly with Judy. Nick was disinclined to follow those instructions unless Judy gave him a reason to, especially with the way her face lit up at the sight of him.

“Nick,” she breathed, and threw her arms around him. “Finally. I missed you. Come on, visiting room is this way.”

The tech, a well-groomed raccoon wearing a godawful sweater vest, pointed to his eyes, then to Nick, with a stern look. Nick snorted and grabbed Judy’s paw, because he knew it would delight her. He allowed her to drag him into the visiting area and allowed himself a private moment of amusement at the tech’s obvious disapproval.

“You are such a troll,” she told him, tugging him down to sit next to her on a bench. The room was spartan, off-white walls and drab furniture with one window that he doubted even Judy’s powerful kicks could break through.

“What can I say, old habits die hard,” he acknowledged. He took a moment to memorize her again. She looked thinner and more unkempt than he’d ever seen her, and despite her valiant attempt to act natural, he did not see that spark of life in her eyes. Nick sighed and shook his head. “You don’t have to put on an act, Judy. I’m not your parents.”

“This place is a hole,” she said churlishly. “I have to put on an act so I don’t scream. I’ve read all the books on the shelf, my clothes are itchy, they get mad at me for working out, the food is terrible, I can’t sleep without pills because the earplugs are too uncomfortable, and they have all these stupid activities. Art therapy? In what universe does painting do anything but piss you off because it didn’t come out right? And _group._ They want me to _share.”_

“You’ve not had much trouble sharing your thoughts with me over the years,” he pointed out, trying not to be amused.

“Yeah, well, you’re you. Besides, what am I supposed to say to these mammals? They’re not cops. _Oh, yeah, I’m dying inside because I was stupid and killed a guy for literally no reason._ The only one who’d talk to me after that is the guy who identifies as a serial killer.”

There were several pieces of that rant that were alarming, but he decided to address the dangerous one first. “They have you in here with a serial killer? This isn’t a criminal institution.”

“He _identifies_ as a serial killer. He’s never killed anyone.” She made a noise of disgust. “He faints at the sight of blood. _Faints._ I hate him so much.”

Nick thought he probably understood her current problem. “Are you on a new medication?”

“Yeah, for a week now. The first one turned me into a zombie. I spent the whole week losing time and forgetting things, but the doctor just thought it was really severe depression. I think my parents tried to visit, but that could have been a dream. And I didn’t even know you weren’t on my visitor list! I thought you just hated me.”

“You thought I – _Judy._ I could never hate you.”

She puffed up and banged her foot against the bottom of the bench. “Maybe you _should!”_

It shouldn’t have been funny, so he did not laugh when he asked, “This new medication...does it, by chance, have side effects that include increased irritability or aggression?”

She folded her arms across her chest and scooted an inch away from him. He tried not to let it hurt. “It’s better than walking around drooling. I’d take outright zoicidal rage over not being in control of my own body. You have _no idea_ what it was like, Nick. I wasn’t in the driver’s seat, and it was hard to move, and I’ve never been so scared in my life but I couldn’t _feel it._ I was drowning and nobody noticed, and it was only a week but it felt like years. I can’t take that again.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he told her, reaching out to pet her ears. She jumped at the contact, but relaxed into it easily enough. The internet had told him to validate her feelings, restate her thoughts, and offer support. “It must have been horrible to feel out of control. But there are other medications out there, Carrots. It’s not just this one or that one.”

“Maybe I don’t _want_ medication. I shouldn’t need it.”

“In an ideal world, there wouldn’t be any illness,” he said, neither confirming nor denying her claim. “In this world, there _is_ illness. Would you look down on your cousin Sarah for taking anticonvulsants for her epilepsy?”

“Of course not! That’s a problem with the neurotransmitters in her...oh.”

Nick was proud of himself for researching appropriate answers to common complaints. He’d felt a little slimy at the time; it had felt like writing a manipulative script to use on the mammal he loved most, but now, he could see the value in having ready-made answers. He reached out and cupped her cheek, glad that even in her agitated state she took comfort in it, grabbing his wrist with both of her paws and nuzzling his palm. More quietly, he told her, “I don’t like seeing you suffer. And you know I always see through charades. I want you get better, for _real,_ because you deserve to be happy. If anyone deserves it, it’s Judy Hopps. I’m in this with you 100%, and if the doctor thinks you need a jump-start with medication...maybe we should trust her. Or him. Them.”

“Scarlett O’Hare,” she told him flatly. “I’m 78% positive it’s a pseudonym and she’s an alien trying to figure out how to use psychology to brainwash and subjugate us.”

Nick blanched. “Judy, that’s not...are you...what.”

She slugged his arm gently. “I’m just kidding. Yeesh. I’m angry, not delusional.”

“You never know,” he answered peevishly.

“Anyway, tell me about work.” Her face fell. “Or whatever you’re allowed to tell me, now that I’m really just a dumb bunny.”

“I don’t know any dumb bunnies,” said Nick, “but I _do_ know a particularly naughty one who dealt drugs when she wasn’t dressing up as her dead ex and smashing mammals, probably with cartoonish Hartley Quinn mallets. Her trial starts in a couple of months…”

* * *

The work never ended, but it was good work. Hard work, too. Every time Nick had a moment to himself, he remembered – Gregory Plumberg’s blood, Matilda Leapyear laughing and offering tea, Beatrice Stripely bound and gagged. Judy with her own gun to her head. It should have resulted in an overwhelming urge to just _quit,_ and maybe once upon a time, he would have. But Nick hadn’t been that mammal in a long time, and it had taken Judy’s long-term absence to really hammer that home.

He missed her. He loved her. But he loved work, too. In zoicide, he’d been part of a unit. In vice, he was part of a _pack._ Foxes, supposedly, were ancestrally solitary. For so long he’d assumed that he was, too. But maybe he’d just needed to find the right mammals. As nonstandard as his “pack” was – the goat, the boar, the wolves, the dingos, the bear, and the fox – it worked for him. You had to have a weird sense of humor to make it in vice. You had to _know_ you could rely on your teammates to have your back. Wolford had been right in his assessment that Judy would not have fit in, but Nick did. It was so goddamn relieving he thought he might burst.

And speaking of bursting, in the end, the final piece of the puzzle had been a normal, run-of-the-mill plumbing issue, a misstep of Al Catpone hilarity with a different sort of underlying dread. With Mr. Big out of the way, Bernard No-Last-Name had gotten slightly careless, apparently far more cautious of competition than of the ZPD, and one of his pipes had burst. The plumber, a portly badger with a nervous stutter, had called in a tip about thinking that maybe the hare he’d seen tied up in there hadn’t been tied up _consensually,_ and it was none of his business really but he didn’t want anybody to get hurt, and _please_ keep his name out of it, and who even drops their surname to just go by _Bernard?_

As a cop, Nick was glad of the mistake. It was likely that Bernard was new; pandering to one’s ego was a rookie move, and why so many criminals got caught. Mostly, though, he was just _furious,_ and wanted to put every single one of Bernard’s associates in cuffs, turn them upside-down, and shake them until names, dates, and places came tumbling out. There was a saying in vice: _don’t half-kill a cockroach or the eggs will hatch._

If they didn’t do this right, someone else would step up and head the organization. They were going to do it right.

Clad in a blue Tommy Bapawma shirt this time, Nick polished his index claw and tapped his foot in faux-impatience. For this assignment, they’d simply booked an appointment. Contrary to popular media, stings like this weren’t particularly common, but in this case, they didn’t just need an arrest, they needed information. And this, he thought, was the biggest difference between zoicide and his new department: vice wanted to honor the living, so that they could continue to live. Zoicide wanted to honor the dead, who didn’t have a voice and needed someone to speak for them.

To honor the living, Nick could be anybody. He could “purchase” a mammal to greenlight the raid. After all, he was a fox; other mammals would assume that he was shifty, conniving, and desperate for creature comforts. Assumptions about his species were often harsh, hurtful, and inconvenient...but they were also _exploitable._

Mammals who judged on outward appearance would always lose. There were four reasons a casually-rich fox would show up in private instead of going to a market. Nick was willing to bet they’d only think of two.

“Hello, hello. John Swift. I have an appointment,” Nick said, injecting some oil into his voice when the door opened.

“A fox...with money,” said the caribou at the door, looking at him with...not disapproval, exactly, but a very mild form of skepticism, by the look of it.

Nick smiled politely, covering his teeth like he’d been taught to do around prey. “I have my business and you have yours. Now has this been a waste of my valuable day, or are you going to let me in?”

“Uh. Yeah, come on inside.”

The caribou stepped to the left and Nick pushed past him, every inch the entitled snob. It wasn’t his favorite role to play, but he knew how to be anyone long enough to con someone. This was not much different, except that the stakes were higher. He wouldn’t think about that. Distractions were detrimental to every job.

For all his success, _Bernard_ wasn’t that smart, and Nick suspected that most of his operation depended on having bigger, smarter associates and stupid underlings who wouldn’t question authority. It was a terrible business model, because eventually, the stupid ones would crack, like Olive had, and the smart ones would turn on their leader if they sensed a shift in the wind. Lurking in the shadows, an underling in name but a leader in deed, was the best place to be in an operation like this.

Bernard the woodchuck was the face. Who was the brain?

It would have been too easy if the ball of utter sleaze in a suit had been the woodchuck from Nick’s one-night stint as a Junior Ranger Scout, but it helped to think of him that way. It would be easier to _hate_ him that way. Nick was great with disdain, bitterness, condescension, and mild schadenfreude, but hate did not come naturally to him. Hate required an emotional intensity that Nick usually could not muster up the energy to reach.

“Well, well,” said Bernard, standing from his comfortable chair. He extended his left paw and squeezed Nick’s so hard he felt the metacarpals grinding under his skin. “A fox in the den.”

“Surprise,” Nick replied dryly, shaking out the kink in his paw when the woodchuck finally let go. “Listen, Bertram-”

“Bernard.”

“Yes, Bernard. As much as I’d love to measure dicks with you, time is money, and the more time I spend here, the less money I have to spend on product. I’m due on the Inner Islands in three hours and my client gets cranky when I make him wait.”

“Your...client,” said the caribou, standing back and looking at Nick with a funny tilt to his head.

“Oh, did you think I wanted the product for myself?” Nick’s smile was chilly and sharp. “I’m an acquisitions expert. I find and procure rare and beautiful objects for my clients. I was _informed_ that you were the mammals to speak to if I wanted to purchase that which is most delightful of all, but if I have been _misled,_ I can certainly tell him that his time has been wasted by some two-bit hustler wearing last year’s Boardstrom knockoffs and – what is that? – oh, ugh. Braycy’s new scent for males.”

Through his earbud, which had been cleverly disguised as a Bluetooth headset, Nick heard someone snort. The woodchuck tugged on the hem of his jacket. The caribou tried not to smile. _Got em._

“No, of course not. Follow my associate, Adam. He’ll show you to our private collection.”

Nick absentmindedly checked his watch and had a private moment of gratitude for one-party consent laws. Everything Adam said while they were in private would be recorded. The house was not large, but Nick had no idea what the basement would look like; he tensed as they went down the stairs. How many mammals would be locked up down here? They would have to keep a larger selection elsewhere, because if they had to be prepared to run off and leave mammals behind – as they had with Beatrice and three others the sniffers had found hidden in the house on Orange Avenue – then they’d have nothing to sell at all if they were kept in the same place.

 _Be a sleaze who doesn’t care,_ he told himself. _They’re objects. You love money and nice things. You’re not a cop, you’re an acquisitions expert._

True to prediction, there were only three mammals in the basement, two females and one male. They were all three medium-sized and looked better-fed and -groomed than he’d expected, but then Olive’s words came back to him. They keep the best ones for themselves. Nick had offered a _lot_ of money for a private sale, which meant that someone who lived here was going to be deprived of a plaything. This would be tricky, but not impossible.

“Hmm,” he said, walking toward a raccoon. Her fur had been brushed so thoroughly that it shone. That, he knew from experience, was a painful process. He lifted her muzzle up with his paw and pressed a scent-bubble to the inside of her collar. If she were to be moved, a trained sniffer would be able to find her. He did the same thing to the female hare and the male lynx, making sure to look thoughtful. “This is all you have in stock?”

“It’s all we have _on paw,”_ Adam corrected. “If your employer-”

 _“Client,”_ Nick said tightly, as though Adam had grievously offended him but Nick wanted to be discreet about it.

“Yes, client.” Adam’s smile became more genuine. “If your _client_ wishes to see more merchandise, he’ll have to come to a market. Or, I suppose, send you. What is your client looking for, exactly?”

“He’s...capricious.” Nick snorted and made it a point to give Adam a knowing look. “Something this size, I think, with as flat a face as possible. Capricious but, sadly, _not_ very creative. I’d say he’s...roughly your size, plus or minus an inch. Do you partake? Which is your favorite?”

Adam’s eyes flicked to the hare. _Of course._ “She’s not built for what your client’s thinking. Might I suggest putting off your purchase and coming to our next market?”

Nick pulled out a cell phone. “Let me text my client and get him on board. You’re right, a raccoon is hardly worth the effort of preparation. Where and when?”

“Next Thursday at eight in the evening. We’ve rented out the ballroom at the Grand.”

Nick blinked, genuinely surprised. “A...hotel ballroom? Isn’t that dangerous?”

Adam shrugged. “The Grand is the foremost convention spot in Zootopia. Comic conventions, Star Trunk conventions, cork leather conventions, local art conventions...this isn’t so different, is it? We dress it up as a pet-play convention and no one suspects a thing.”

Judy would have something to say about _that._ Probably something that began and ended with her fists. Nick agreed with the sentiment, but he still had a job to do and a caribou to needle. “That’s a brilliant idea, actually. It must have been yours.”

“Yes, it was. How did you know?”

“I hope I don’t offend, here, but Bertram doesn’t seem like the brightest sort of fellow. You, on the other paw…” Nick wiped his index claw on the collar of his Tommy Bapawma shirt and grinned. “The only thing I can think of is that the benefits outweigh the annoyances. That raccoon must be an absolute _treasure._ I’ll have my client show up at the Grand, and in the meantime, I’ll take the hare.”

Adam’s face closed. “She’s really not the right sort of mammal for your client. Her teeth-”

“Can be removed, of course. It’ll take regular maintenance to keep them from growing in again, but I’m sure he can find someone to pay. If not...well, I’m a deft paw at anything, for a fee.”

The hare whimpered, and Nick felt _really bad_ for having this conversation in front of her, but he couldn’t warn her that help was right outside the door. He had worried that he wouldn’t be able to establish enough rapport to make the call, but Adam was just about flipped. Nick gave him a pointed look. “My bunny?”

“She’s mine,” Adam said quietly.

“Then _why,”_ Nick drawled, showing a hint of fang, “is it not in your room, faithfully awaiting its master’s return?”

“She’s not… _strictly…”_

“See, what _I_ think, Adam, is that you’ve grown fond of your little pet. You don’t care for its temperament, and you don’t care what it has to say, _if_ it’s even smart enough to talk, but you care to keep it and use it as you please. You don’t have the kind of capital it takes to buy it off Bertram, but you want it, don’t you? _That’s_ why you work for that jumped-up jackwad who buys his suits at _outlet stores.”_

“You get it though, I know you do. You hate your client, it’s all over your face. Don’t buy her. You can have the other two for the price you quoted. Two for the price of one. I keep the books, Bernard will never know.”

“Oh, I think I _will_ get two for the price of one, Adam. You, and the hare. You’re wasted here. Let Bertr – _Bernard –_ crash and burn without you. Come and work with me. I can guarantee you access to this weird little thing. It is leaving this house with me regardless. What do you have to gain by staying? Do you suppose you’ll come upon another hare and train _it_ as well as you’ve trained _this one_ before someone else claims it?”

“You’re trying to recruit me?” Adam’s eyes narrowed. “What’s in it for you?”

“I _hate_ Zootopia,” Nick lied. “I despise living here. I’d like a partner who can run this office independently. Who can keep books. Who can _give orders to stupid mammals_ and make them think it was their idea. In the meantime, I’ll focus my attention on the office in the Bayou, and Zootopia will become just another bad dream. My client would be willing to sell me that thing once he has acquired a more permanent one, better suited to his needs, and I would be willing to _gift_ it to you in return for your cooperation.”

“My own bunny and my own business,” Adam clarified.

“More or less.”

“Bernard’s a prick anyway. I’ll help you get the merchandise to your car.”

Nick grinned and stepped out of the way, allowing the caribou to heft the hare into a sack and carry it in his arms. He followed up the stairs, maintaining his smile, and nodded to Bernard as he passed. “Thank you. The selection was _quality.”_

“My merch always is,” Bernard replied.

It wouldn’t be for long.

The moment the door closed behind them, Nick’s team went in through the back door, and Nick shoved his tranq gun into Adam’s ribs, holding his forearm tightly. “I suggest you don’t try to run. It will only end badly for you _and_ the hare.”

“What,” Adam said, looking lost.

“Detective Nick Wilde, ZPD,” he said, digging the gun more firmly into Adam’s side as a reminder of who had the upper paw. “A piece of advice: if an offer sounds too good to be true, that’s because it _is._ Idiot. Get in the car. You are under arrest for mammal trafficking and numerous sex crimes, at the _very_ least. My associate will read you your rights.”

With a bag full of hare in his arms and no way to run without either dropping her or getting tranqed, Adam had no choice but to get into a car that was sized for larger mammals. Howlett greeted him on the other side with a vicious grin and carefully pried the sack out of his hooves. “I’m gonna take this. You have the right to remain silent…”

Nick sank to the curb and put the butts of his palms into his eye sockets. With the adrenaline of the game leaving his body, he felt dizzy and sick. Logically, he knew that _right now,_ the guilty parties were being cuffed, and the two other mammals in the basement were getting rescued. Logically, he knew that the next step in the plan would be to have an officer pretend to be Bernard and make sure _all_ of the captive mammals were brought to the Grand, so that they could save them and arrest anyone there to make a purchase. _Logically,_ it would end soon, because now they were truly on the hunt.

But he couldn’t help the shaking.

“Hey, Wilde. You all right,” asked Socken, one of the dingos. Nick didn’t know him well, but he seemed like a good enough guy.

“I can give you the right answer, or a true answer,” he muttered, unable to remove his paws just yet.

“Yeah, I got it. This is your first time, dude. It sucks to be the one who has to do the talking. Makes you feel like a ruttin sleaze. Makes you feel like you’ve done something wrong. But you didn’t. You nailed it in there. You’re a real ruttin pro, and you should be proud of yourself. If I’d been in your place, we’d have had to go with plan B. Get em in transit. And they would have been hurt for longer by mammals who are worth less than garbage. So suck it up, Sweetheart, we’ve got a scat-ton of processing to do and we gotta do it as quickly and quietly as possible. All paws on deck.”

“I felt like a monster in there,” he admitted. “Every second I stood there, I…”

Socken clapped him on the back. What was it with canids and doing that? He was going to get a permanent bruise. “You ever lose your conscience, and you don’t belong in our pack. You saved the day. Hey, you were in zoicide before. What did you do after a bad day back then?”

“Went home. Ate. Usually worked a little more with Hopps.”

A snort. “Yeesh, no wonder she went all spooky. That isn’t healthy. Come out with us tonight, yeah? We’ll get you good and drunk, get some food in ya that’s 90% grease and 10% sketch, and we won’t talk about work at all.”

“That doesn’t sound like the worst idea in the world.”

He wasn’t just talking about the alcohol. He was talking about Judy, too, and the way that their private and professional lives had blended so thoroughly that they had forgotten what _home_ was supposed to mean. After she returned, it would be a difficult adjustment – not being able to disclose the details of their cases to each other, should Judy choose to continue with the MBI at all – but ultimately, it would probably be for the best. If they couldn’t bring their work home with them, then home could truly be a haven. A place to exist together and dote on each other without the dread of dead bodies and missed tips looming over them.

But before he could think about _that,_ Nick needed to do lots and lots of paperwork.

**2**

“You really didn’t get on with Ellen,” says the skunk in front of Judy. She smells a bit like Nick, only it’s stronger and slightly unpleasant, but maybe Judy only thinks it’s unpleasant because she _isn’t_ Nick, and anyway at least she’s not that jerkish koala who thinks Judy should be treated like a china doll, like she hasn’t been dealing with garbage for years now, and she needs to answer.

“I guess not. I don’t like it when mammals treat me like a delicate thing. I’m not going to shatter.”

“Ah.” The skunk – her name is Molly and she’s a licensed therapist who attended Zootopia University and Judy knows this because she listens and pretends she can’t hear through thinner glass – puts on her glasses. She reminds Judy of Chief Bogo, except Molly looks like she’s trying too hard to be sympathetic and he always looks like he’s trying not to explode. “The majority of...mammals like you...tend to be a bit more prone to, ah, needing a delicate touch.”

“Bunnies, you mean,” Judy says bluntly, because of _course_ they’d stereotype bunnies, everybody does, even (apparently) mental health professionals, and it figures that even in a place that’s supposed to be safe she’d get the same scat. “That’s kind of gross, you know. We’re small, but we’re not stupid. We know what condescension looks like. And, _by the way,_ I was an officer of the law. Not exactly the fainting type.”

Judy looks at Molly and Molly looks at Judy and the _cute little bunny_ thinks of how many bones she could break before the therapist could call for help, and that’s not really _Judy,_ it’s not a thought she want tos have, but she can’t help it, she just keeps thinking these things, it’s not like she’s going to _do_ it. Nick was probably right about the medication not being good for her but what if the next one is worse – what if she turns back into a zombie or gets chemical brain trauma or it makes her sick or

“No, you’re not. But it’s not bad to need help. What I meant by _mammals like you_ was that individuals with recurring depression often need to be _shown,_ rather than told, that this is a safe place.”

“Is that even a thing mammals question?” Judy looks at Molly and wonders how strong her teeth are. Judy’s are probably stronger, but Molly’s are sharper. Judy can grow hers back if they get damaged, so that’s a point in her favor, although she can’t fathom why it matters all of a sudden. Every stray thought that usually fades into the background is blaring in her mind, behind her teeth like a stuck seed. “The other patients aren’t hostile, and anyway I can wipe the floor with any of them should the techs be too weak to do the job they’re paid to do. She’s never said it, but it’s obvious that May has anorexia and right now can barely lift a soup can. Alex faints at the sight of blood so all I’d have to do is break his nose. Lauren-”

“Is this what you think about all the time?”

“How to defend myself in a crisis? I guess. It’s training. It doesn’t just go away because you’re not out in the field.”

“No, I mean do you always assess danger in terms of physical threats?”

Judy tries to think of an answer that doesn’t use the word _stupid_ as an insult. It’s hard, mostly because there _are_ stupid questions, and that’s one of them. There isn’t another kind of danger. She can handle anything that comes her way as long as she’s prepared for it and anyway, Molly’s probably just trying to throw her because she’s a tiny bit cranky and psychologists went into their field because they were too lame to do real science. “That’s what danger _is.”_

“Not for someone like you,” Molly says quietly, looking like Fangmeyer does sometimes when they’ve figured out something that was previously elusive. Judy’s angry at Molly for stealing an expression she likes and using it in a situation she hates. “I don’t doubt your physical prowess, Judy. You are more than capable. I’ve seen you in action. But you’re in far more danger from your own emotions. If you don’t acknowledge them-”

“I do,” Judy tells her, because who cares about Skunk, Interrupted when that whole thing is stupid anyway. “My emotions motivate me and help me focus, and sometimes I use them to fool perps. I’m so on top of them that I can use them.”

Exasperated, Molly says, “Weaponizing _some_ of your feelings is not the same thing as acknowledging and working through them. You want to forgo delicacy? Here is the blunt truth, then: if you don’t stop lying to yourself, and by extension everyone around you, then you will not get better. Ever. You’ve been here for a month now and the only things you’ve done are disturb the other patients by eating chicken salad and convince Dr. O’Hare that this medication is working for you, when it’s clearly working against you.”

“The medication’s fine,” Judy snaps. She can’t try another one. There are so many things that could go wrong, so many errors, how can psychiatry be called a medical science when most of it is just guessing and hoping it’ll work? There isn’t even a reliable test for mental illness, just a bunch of subjective survey-like tests that she could pass right now if she didn’t still have two more months left in her sentence, all she’d have to do is answer _some_ of the questions with mild-to-moderate negativity and _most_ of the questions mostly positively, Katie taught her that.

Katie taught her that.

Katie taught her to never trust inpatient facilities.

Katie taught her to look at psychologists with suspicion.

“It’s not fine,” Judy tell her therapist, looking down. Katie taught her to look someone in the eye when she wants to lie to them. “I’m just scared that the next one will be worse.”

“Let me guess. Racing thoughts? Unusual aggression? Heightened sensitivity to outside stimuli?”

“I can’t sleep. Everything is too loud. It makes all of that even worse,” she admits, and it’s the worst thing she could be doing right now, except she’s been _conditioned_ to think that and it stings that she didn’t even notice.

There’s so much that Katie told her, that Katie did to her, and to sift through all of that and separate fact from fiction is a daunting and terrifying task, because what if Judy looks through her head and all she sees is an echo of the agent who tried to break her and remake her? No, that can’t be, because there are parts of her that she has kept with her since childhood. The desire to do good, to pursue justice and truth even when it hurts. The desire to protect those she care about even at great cost to herself. Katie didn’t give her those traits, and Katie didn’t take them away from her either. It’s just scary, is all. Scary and horrible and now she’s crying like a dummy because how did she never notice how deep this ran? She’s so _stupid._ She had so much faith in a monster. She _let_ Katie do this to her and she can’t remember noticing it until it was too late.

“I’m going to let Dr. O’Hare know that this class of medication is bad for your system,” says Molly, writing a note on her pad, “and when you’re ready to talk...I’ll be here.”

* * *

With mass arrests and a city-wide movement to reunite Bernard’s victims with their families, Nick felt that he could safely let Beatrice Stripely know that it was _over._ As he had suspected, Adam had turned on his boss for the chance to decrease his sentence, and the real muscle hadn’t known much. Nick still felt sick thinking about it, but it was getting easier to accept that pulling off a con on that scale didn’t mean anything other than that Nick was good at talking. He was still good at getting inside mammals’ heads. That wasn’t inherently good or bad. It was just another tool he could use.

Three seconds after he knocked on the door, it opened, and Beth’s face lit up. “Mister Officer Nick Wilde! Mama, _Mama!_ Can Mister Officer Nick Wilde come in?”

Nick got his first look at Beatrice since he’d last seen her at the station, giving her statement to Loretta Evergreen. She was cleaner, but she didn’t seem much healthier. He hoped her lack of current employment wasn’t forcing her to choose between feeding herself and feeding her daughter.

She looked at him doubtfully. “I…”

“It’s all right,” he said, putting his paws up. “I come bearing good news, but I can give it to you from the hallway.”

“Oh... _oh._ Yes, please come in,” said Beatrice. While Beth grabbed Nick’s paw and pulled him through the doorway, her mother threw open the window with no screen and propped open the front door. Nick was struck by how _smart_ she was being, but he didn’t know how to say that without sounding either horribly condescending or vaguely threatening, so he decided to keep his mouth shut.

It didn’t matter what he thought anyway. He was there to deliver the news, not judge her choices.

“I’m making a police dolly,” Beth told him, gesturing to a mess of fabric, thread, and foil. She had carefully drawn a fairly decent pattern on an old paper bag, and it was attached to the fabric with Scotch tape. If she followed the pattern, the doll’s outfit would probably turn out pretty well.

“That’s great! The lines are very nice,” he complimented. More quietly, he asked, “Do you need her to be in another room while we talk?”

“She knows everything. I didn’t want her to know anything, but she overheard my conversation with Gilly, and she’s too smart not to put the pieces together.” Beatrice shook her head. “Whatever you say, if it’s good news, it’ll probably benefit her too.”

“It’s _very_ good news. We got them, Beatrice. I can’t guarantee that we got every single one, but we got enough. The operation is effectively dead.”

“So...we can live again,” she concluded faintly. “Beth can go back to school. I can...go back to...work.”

“You _can.”_ He looked at her sideways. “Is that what you want?”

“What else would I _do,”_ she asked him, clenching her fists. “I don’t know how to do anything else.”

“Another mammal might tell you to do what makes you happy,” he said, leaning back and watching Beth carefully cut a piece of blue cloth. “I think that’s stupid advice, myself. Not everybody can love their job. Do what keeps you – and Beth – safe. Maybe you won’t love it. Maybe you will. Just don’t give up on her. She never gave up on you.”

“My baby girl is the bravest little girl in the world.”

“She certainly is brave. You know, I don’t think that Gilly would be opposed to hiring you on in a different position. I don’t know if she ever showed it, but she cares a lot about all of you. She didn’t give up on you either.”

“It always felt like I was alone. Like it was just me and my Beth, and no one else cared. But I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

“It’s...easy to feel like that when you can’t trust anyone,” he told her, “but feeling something doesn’t always mean it’s true. Whatever you do...be careful doing it. More mammals than just your daughter would be upset if you got hurt again.”

“Thank you _so much_ for keeping my baby safe,” she blurted, reaching for him, and...yep, there was that snot again.

_Why him?_

* * *

His heart soared when he saw her leaning against their usual bench. He couldn’t help it. He missed her. “How are you doing, Carots?”

Judy wasn’t nearly as jumpy as she had been the first few times he’d gone to see her, but she still didn’t look quite like herself. That was okay. She had the right to be as sad or angry or just flat-out depressed as she was. At least she wasn’t trying to pretend for his sake.

“I’m not really sure,” she told him, scooting to the side. “I got a new therapist the other day.”

He joined her on the bench. She wouldn’t look at him, seeming to fix her gaze just to the left. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that was about. “How did it go?”

“She called me a liar.”

Nick frowned, already irritated with this “therapist.” That didn’t seem professional at all. “Seriously? That’s not okay.”

“I mean, she didn’t – she didn’t use that word, but it’s what she meant. She said that I lie to myself all the time. I’ve always been in a place that doesn’t allow weakness; it’s always felt like I have to seem twice as strong as everybody else just to be considered competent at all. I can’t afford to waste time getting hurt, so I tell myself the things that hurt don’t mean anything. Old injuries...old emotional scars. If it happened in the past, it doesn’t matter. So then I end up lying to everyone else too, not out of spite, but because I’d have to stop and think about this stuff.

“I see it all in my head, Nick. I cared about every case that we took on. The bodies and crime scenes...that wasn’t hard. With as many siblings as I have, in a farming family, it’s only natural that I saw some brutal injuries and even a few bodies. I was the one who dragged my brother Donnie out of the autotill with his body all mangled and cold. Penelope got hit in the face with a hook so hard the funeral director had to work off photos to reconstruct it. We never figured out why, but Zackary shot himself in the barn when I was really little, about an hour before my littermates and I tried using the barn as a hiding spot in hide-and-seek. Death happens, and at least there isn’t suffering in death. The hard part was facing those families, having to say _I’m sorry,_ having to – to look so cold when really I wanted to cry with them. Or worse, when we looked and looked for a victim’s family or friends and we couldn’t find anyone. The mammals who died without anyone who cared, just...all alone.”

 _I thought I was going to die alone,_ said Beatrice in the back of his mind.

“Joking around with you helped, but it didn’t solve the problem. It was like getting stitches when you’re still bleeding internally. Molly says if I don’t stop lying to myself, then it doesn’t matter how much medication we try, I won’t ever really feel better. But at this point I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start with the thing that’s on your mind the most. Get that out of the way. Then deal with everything else that trickles around that.”

“It was easy,” she admitted, apparently deciding that he’d be the first one she told. He was okay with that, even if it took him off guard. She wouldn’t look at him, but she didn’t pull away when he took her paw in his, either. Progress. “To kill him, I mean. Mal Coates. Katie taught me how to turn it all off, but I never wanted to. I always considered my emotions a strength. But I took all the things he did to those mammals, the ones he got away with killing...I made myself angry enough that I felt like I’d overheat and burst, and then I put that anger in my gun and shot him. I felt good doing it, Nick. That’s what sucks. There was a little part of me that liked killing him, because he deserved to not be alive anymore. I liked it.”

There were dozens of answers to that revelation, from passive support to the harsh condemnation she was so obviously seeking. He ignored all of them, instead choosing to say, “When I was seventeen, I had a huge stack of counterfeit cash left over from a stupid con I never pulled. I had to get rid of it. So I integrated myself into the city center homeless community. I sat with them. I begged for money with them. I had a whole backstory about an abusive family and even gave myself the injuries to back it up. I told these mammals – they weren’t homeless by choice, not all of them, anyway – I said that I had a plan, and that if we pooled our money, I could double it and bring it back. And I did...it just wasn’t real money. I got off scot-free and three of those mammals got arrested because of the money _I_ gave them. They were all three products of the war in the Crimson Isles.”

She squeezed his paw. “Nick, I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I was a piece of scat for a long time, Carrots. Mr. Big took me in about six months after that, and that experience helped me go straight-ish, but you turned my life around. Ask Wolford, and he can tell you a few things he wishes he’d never done. Half of Fangmeyer’s history is classified. Some of Finnick’s stories would make your fur singe off. The point isn’t to make you feel sorry for me. The point is, everybody has regrets. Anyone who tells you they don’t regret anything is either a teenager or someone you don’t want to know.”

“Katie didn’t have any regrets.”

“Yeah, and that got her a one-way ticket to hell. She’s the last mammal you should be looking up to.” Nick snorted. “Duke Weaselton would be a better role model.”

He wouldn’t talk about the brutality of the Eastern Savanna, where predators were collared and minor infractions were met with public beatings, predator and prey alike. Castleberry would be tortured and degraded for the rest of her life. Nick almost couldn’t believe that Fangworthy had been cold enough to send her there, but what else would she consider punishment? She had probably been tortured before. She definitely knew how to survive. Only a complete loss of autonomy would even make a dent on her psyche, and the physical pain would only weaken her further. It made Nick sick, but if it meant she’d be out of their lives forever, he couldn’t muster up much sympathy.

“Nick, I…” Judy glanced up at him, meeting his eyes briefly before looking away again. “I’m glad you’re here. I don’t really know how you can stand to look at me anymore, but I’m grateful that you do.”

“I’m here because I promised you I’d stay with you forever,” he reminded her, tracing her ear with a gentle claw. “I’m not giving up on you just because you feel guilty. That would make me a bad friend.”

“Just a friend?”

He kissed her head between her ears. “The word _just_ doesn’t apply to friendship. I love you, and that’s not going to change no matter what we call ourselves. But let’s not obscure this with relationship clutter. We have the rest of our lives to be together. Don’t pay attention to me just yet. Pay attention to you.”

“I can do that,” she said in a voice so small he almost missed it.

“Yeah? Are you _going_ to do it?”

“Yeah, I am. I’m...going to let some things go. I’m tired of carrying it all around.”

He suspected he knew what she wanted to let go of, and if he were perfectly honest, he needed to let go of it too. He couldn’t resent the Ocelot forever. If they wanted her out of their lives for good, they both needed to move forward.

**3**

I’m not happy, but that’s okay. Happiness is not a transitive property. I’ve always thought of it as a verb; _a = b = c,_ where _c_ is happiness and _a_ and _b_ are priority actions. I’ve learned in the past two months that it’s not that easy. Sometimes the actions required for happiness are not happy ones at all.

Sometimes I have to allow the kind of vulnerability that, thus far, I have religiously avoided.

“I’ll share,” I say hesitantly, raising my paw. I’m in a place now where I don’t think my meds are _making_ me crazy, and maybe I’m still afraid of being judged, but these mammals don’t matter in the long run. Even if they remember me, they won’t be allowed to say anything.

“Wow. Okay, Judy,” says Emma, the lemur who runs group therapy on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. “Let’s hear what you have to say.”

All these eyes on me. But I’ve been through worse. I take a breath and begin.

“I’m a detective with the ZPD. Or, I used to be, anyway. A few months ago, I was put into a situation in which I was ordered to kill someone. Up till recently, I thought that was my biggest problem. I thought it was the thing I was ashamed of. But I was wrong. In the specific department I was working in, you have to be prepared to discharge your weapon, either to defend yourself or defend someone else. I’m _not_ ashamed of doing my job. I’m not ashamed of following my superior’s orders. My shame is what took me there.”

Steady. Don’t look at anyone. They don’t exist. I’m telling this to an empty room.

“When I was 22, I almost scrubbed out of the police academy. I wasn’t doing well at all, and my savings was almost completely gone; I couldn’t afford to continue. But I was approached by some mammals who said they could make my dreams come true. They’d finance me through the academy, and if I made it to the top, they’d give me special training to augment my skills and make me universally employable. It re-energized me. I wasn’t destined for some boring job babysitting drunks in Bunnyburrow, like one of my trainers said. I was headed to a place where I could do some real good.

“When I was done with my first year, my class graduated, but I didn’t. I was assigned to a one-on-one trainer who I _thought_ was teaching me to be, as she put it, unbeatable and unkillable. She was so cruel to me when I made a mistake or didn’t do exactly what she asked when she asked. She’d tell me that I was stupid and slow and weak, and if I didn’t get better, I would never achieve my goals. But then when I did well, she would be so kind to me. She said that she cared about me. She wanted me to succeed, so she _had_ to call me names and punish me with – with only being allowed scalding showers or hours of stress positions or lessons on taking a real pounding or not being able to stop running until I puked or passed out. As the year went on and training got tougher and weirder, I got the sense that if she didn’t think I loved _her,_ I would never go anywhere. It was easy to just...convince myself that I was in love with her, because she was beautiful and strong and smart and those last two are traits I value. I didn’t notice how much she was changing me until I took the academy’s exit exam and graduated. It was...comically easy, and I came out top of the class. I thought it was all me. I thought I could take on the world and win.

“She told me, though, that I was her perfect killing machine, and that brought me down to Earth.” I clench my fist, then let it go. I clench my fists when I want to turn feelings into anger, and that’s not the point of this. “The whole point of becoming a police officer was to help make the world a better place. I knew even back then that someday I might have to take a criminal’s life, and I wasn’t looking forward to it, but I was prepared just like everyone who goes through the academy. I was _not_ okay with being a machine. My trainer and I had a fight, and in the end I blamed her boss. In the abstract it was his fault for not keeping a better eye on us, but...well, the thing I’ve been afraid to admit all this time is that my relationship with her was abusive. It was harmful. Her entire goal was to break me and turn me into something she could control, and she kind of seduced me to get me to that place. Emotionally, I mean. She never touched me except violently, in a training capacity. For a while now I’ve been sort of hating myself for _letting_ her do that to me. That’s not what happened, though. I don’t like feeling out of control, so I blamed myself because it’s easier to be ashamed of my actions than admit someone’s done something _to_ me. Things don’t happen to me; I happen to things. Except in this case, something did happen to me, and I couldn’t have prevented what I didn’t understand.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stop feeling ashamed, but I want to. I want to be free of it. I want to move on. So I’m letting go of it right here in front of everybody, because...maybe none of you will be able to hold me accountable in the long run, but _I’ll_ remember. There are nine mammals in this room who just heard me say I don’t want to hate myself for what I didn’t do. That’s nine mammals I don’t want to disappoint. So, um...thanks for being here, even if my story made you really bored and you stopped listening. Don’t tell me if that’s the case. Let me have nine faces to keep me accountable in my own head, and maybe sometime soon I can be more than just okay.”

I look up, expecting to see varying levels of disgust. But Lauren and May are openly crying for me, Emma’s covertly wiping her right eye, and even Alex looks somber despite my talk of killing. Nobody’s looking at me like I’m evil incarnate. I still feel completely humiliated for having to talk about myself like some battered ex, except…

Except.

That’s a narrative I’ve been fed by mammals who have a vested interest in keeping abuse quiet, isn’t it? If even admitting and talking about it are humiliating, then nobody is going to want to tell their story. Katie lied to me and manipulated me for the sole purpose of making me do what she wanted. What _she_ thought was best. She tried to take away my choices by limiting my knowledge and resources, and the worst part of all is that I know without a doubt she thought she was doing me a favor. _Mama knows best._ In another universe, if I’d never met Nick – or worse, if it had _been_ Nick, the mammal I trust most – then I might have fallen into the trap. Maybe right now, I’d be smiling at the mammal who hurt me more than words can express. Instead, I’m talking about it. I’m acknowledging the harm. I’m letting it go.

I’m letting her go.

* * *

_"I’m not perfect, I know that. I’m also not your perfect killing machine. It’s not who I am.”_

_“Oh, don’t be dramatic. You always were a pill. You are my best legacy, Jude; you had fun back then, and you’ll have fun now. It’s just more training, if it helps. And anyway the only difference between a cadaver and a live mammal is that corpses don’t scream.”_

_“Do you hear that?”_

_“Don’t change the subject.”_

_“No, I hear something...electronic, buzzing...someone’s using their phone near here. If you insist on trying to talk me into this, we should at least go somewhere with a little more protection.”_

“As you can see,” came the voice of Fabienne Growley, “there is more to the story that we aired months ago on former Officer Judy Hopps. Our source in the MBI says that the order came from a superior officer, who had worked with Hopps before and given no sign that she was not working within the confines of the law. The rogue agent has since been dealt with, and Hopps is undergoing intensive recovery for trauma sustained during the course of the undercover operation. Our source also stresses that the intelligence Hopps provided helped dismantle Zootopia’s largest and most violent crime family from the inside, which begs the question: was this all a ruse to make the city believe one of our heroes had fallen? Our MBI source neither confirms nor denies, and all of the other details of the case have been sealed until Paul Largo and his associates are – safely – behind bars.”

Nick turned off his shiny new television. With a shift in departments had come a shift in mindset, as well; the work he had was steady. He didn’t make much, but he wasn’t near the poverty line, either. For years, he had been hoarding, saving every cent he could, and he hadn’t noticed because Judy did the same thing. It was a byproduct of growing up with next to nothing, albeit for different reasons. Rufflich had a stay-at-home partner and a cub, and he didn’t make much more than Nick did. He had realized recently that it was time to move on. He didn’t live on the streets anymore, and he never would. He could let go of the past. He didn’t _need_ it anymore.

Judy was going to love the television. And on that note, Nick thought, it was time to leave. It had taken an extra two weeks, but Judy was finally ready to go. It was nearly eleven, and it took about an hour and fifteen minutes to get to the Rainforest District. Finally, it was time to bring her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not expect to write a novel-length story. At most, I thought maybe I’d make it to 40K, because the original intent was to write something that un-subtly made fun of certain tropes I have seen in Zootopia fanfiction (and elsewhere). It was an experiment to help me learn how to write in preparation for my first-ever English class. I expected to write maybe 8 or 9 chapters of over-the-top dark comedy. This...is not what I intended, but I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> I chose Judy as the “rogue element” for two reasons: one, I was tired of it being Nick who did shady shit for stupid reasons, and two, Judy _is_ the better choice. Not only is she resilient, smart, and determined, but she has a history of both “going rogue in pursuit of the greatest good” and giving up what defines her when she believes she’s doing more bad than good. Meanwhile, Nick was unwilling to break the law (other than dodging taxes and palming some blueberries) even when he was a conman, did his level best to keep Judy from hurting herself or others during the movie (albeit mostly for selfish reasons), and jumped at the chance to do some good even while complaining about it. Nick “knows everybody,” which means that a lot of people know him; none of the criminal element would believe that Nick had randomly decided to become a real criminal especially after turning his life around, but Judy is the _godmother to Mr. Big’s granddaughter._ What a fucking unknown. Could she be a real criminal? Probably, if it were the only way she could help make the world a better place. That’s her real drive. Being an officer is the vehicle she uses to pursue her dream, and while “Officer Hopps” is now so intertwined with her identity that she needs to relearn how to function without it, I can see her doing anything from vigilante justice to being a prosecutor.
> 
> This ended up being a bit of a love letter to people like Judy – the people I just don’t fucking understand but who kind of leave me in awe anyway – and a big, scathing review of every story like this one that takes itself seriously. It was a chance to depict Nick Wilde, the hero: not the slimy dipshit who goes rogue with no logical explanation, or who becomes the epitome of sketch only to reform at the last minute and save the day, or who manipulates the people he “cares about” into doing things he wants them to do “for their own good,” but the genuinely good guy who takes the information he has, gives it to the right people, and takes steps to shut down the bad guys, even if it might put him (and Judy) in danger. Who uses honest and open communication with his partner. Who learns from his mistakes and passes on what he knows in a way that doesn’t make you cringe at the condescending bullshit. Who cares enough to trust Judy to take care of herself. Who comes to terms with his dishonest past and uses it as a tool rather than wallows in self-pity. Okay, you get the picture, I have serious problems with the things that this story makes fun of. Stop, Jay, nobody cares.
> 
> There are things I fucked up and things that succeeded. I didn’t want this to be a mystery, so it was nice to see people correctly guessing at things to come based on the clues I stomped into place (kudos especially to DeadDireWolf, who knew that Judy was going to have to do inpatient even though I was kinda playing coy about it). I really want to stress that everybody who reviewed this story helped me. Because of the feedback I’ve received, I think that I have become a somewhat better writer than I was when I started, and writing has helped me connect better with my clients. Plus, I got an A in that English class. Each and every one of you who reviewed had a hand in my little bit of growth as a writer, either by asking questions that told me what I’d forgotten to include, pointing out mistakes/examples of bad writing, or just encouraging me by saying what you liked. Thank you, _thank you._


	19. Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy plays music, Nick makes a decision, and everything is disgustingly sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Shakira - Me Enamoré](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPTn0QEhxds)
> 
> [A Quiet Chaos, The Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFsMzmYsLKfNmdtFCJ0r0Bp7aifmAVm74)

Finally, they were both home for a long weekend.

Judy was standing on the stepstool, ears perked and hips shaking to Gazelle, whose songs had already begun abusing their Bluetooth speaker after two months of irresponsible ownership. From his position at the doorway, Nick couldn’t see what she was doing at the counter, but he had a sneaking suspicion it had to do with food. These days, that was a bit of a mixed bag. She was really good at casseroles, but it was touch and go on desserts, which was what he could smell.

“Y bailé hasta que me cansé, hasta que me cansé bailé, me enananamoré, nos enamoramos…”

Well, she was singing along, so she was probably enjoying herself, even if she was pushing her kitchen limits. He pushed up onto the balls of his feet, shut the door as quietly as possible, and sneaked up behind her. He had to grin at the way she was carelessly softening her words. She was still new to the language she was learning for her job; although her perfectionism and years of Gazelle worship made a her quick study, she tended to get self-conscious when she knew she was being watched, and it hurt her accent. He almost wanted to just hang back and watch her in her moment of joy. But, he thought, it was kind of ridiculous that _he_ didn’t speak a lick of Spanish and still knew all the words to Judy’s favorite pop songs. She deserved a jump scare just for that.

“Un mojito, dos mojitos–”

“Mira que ojitos bonitos,” he sang at more of a growl than anything, wrapping his arms around her from behind. She didn’t jump, as he’d hoped, but she did turn around and finish the line with him. “Me quedo otro ratito…”

Judy tugged on his tie and pulled him down to kiss him lightly. With the stepstool, it wasn’t such a difference in height, but it made his heart trip anyway to have her guide him. He was finally beyond being surprised that she wanted him, but each little reminder was still a gift. She pulled away to pull her cPod out of her pocket and pause the music, and Gazelle went quiet as Nick dipped down to nip lightly at the side of Judy’s throat.

“W _eeeeel_ come home,” she said, making a pointless attempt to mask her moan with a singsong voice. Why she thought that would work on him was a mystery.

“I should be saying that to you,” he replied, pulling back and looking at her. She looked good, if a little slimmer than she had been before she left. Behind the sickly-sweet scent of _whatever_ that was in the mixing bowl, she smelled even better than she looked. “You were gone for a whole week.”

She grinned and ran the tips of her nails through the fur under his shirt. “I was, but it was time well spent. You wouldn’t believe how crazy mammals can get.”

“You didn’t get hurt, did you,” he asked, repressing the urge to check her for injuries. She was a big girl, and she was getting better at asking for help when she needed it.

“What? No.” She rolled her eyes. “I can’t tell the whole story, but I _can_ tell you I was out in Meowami posing as a trust fund student on spring break, which was nice for practicing Spanish and terrible for keeping my fluff. We found the target and arrested him, so with luck it’ll be another good six months before we have to go after another lowlife who uses the same scam, but I’m talking about spring breakers. The music came on and I started dancing, because you can’t _not_ dance when you hear the Angel with Horns, and – long story short, I may or may not have come home with a bunch of singles that some drunken idiots stuffed into my bikini. They were under the impression that my dancing was _good.”_

“Oh.” He digested that for a minute, not really sure how to react. Finally, he settled on, _“Please_ tell me there are pictures.”

She shook her head, that little smile still tugging her mouth into something vaguely sneaky. It was by far his favorite smile of hers; it meant she was enjoying the moment. “No pictures, but Rivers got a video. I’ll have her send it to you.”

“How is she, by the way? Also, what _is_ that?”

She wriggled and turned back to bowl, but made no effort to dislodge his paws. He decided to keep them around her, because sometimes he just needed reassurance. She was there, with him, because she wanted to be. She was _there._

With a pout in her voice, she answered, “It’s cookie dough, Nick. I think I can handle _cookies._ Here, try.” She pulled out a piece of dough that looked far too greasy to make anything resembling cookies and held it up, looking over her shoulder. While he reluctantly licked it out of her paw, she added, “Rivers is still holding out for a threesome with Wolford and his partner. I keep telling her it’s not going to happen, but the heart wants what it wants. Or the vag, in this case.”

He choked, and not only because that had been unusually crass. “Carrots, this is – this is _not_ cookies, this is a travesty. It’s a parody of cookies.”

Her ears drooped. “Is it really that bad?”

“Yes, and I’m not going to fall for your sneaky little ear trick again,” he told her. Her ears perked up again. “This has, what, six eggs in it? And probably four cups of sugar?”

“We like sugar,” she reasoned. “It makes sense that cookies would be more delicious with _more_ of it. Also I got distracted, so it was kind of an accident anyway. It was too dry, so I put extra eggs in. Maple syrup, too, so it wouldn’t _just_ taste like eggs.”

“All right,” he said, “it was a valiant effort from someone who used to burn water, but we are scrapping this, and tomorrow I am going to teach you how and why cookies work. It’s only fair, after you taught me _how to sing Gazelle._ Now I keep getting her stuck in my head.”

“I said I was sorry,” she said, completely unrepentant. Lowering her voice, she crooned, “Lo siento, mi zorro.”

“But you’re really not.” He refused to fall for _that,_ too, even though the drag of her tongue over the double _r_ made him think something obscene. He grabbed the bowl of... _whatever_ that was and lifted it over her head so that he could scrape it into the trash and soak the bowl in the sink. “Cripes, did you put _cardamom_ in there?”

“That one wasn’t my fault. The recipe called for it. I thought it was weird too; it smells spicy. Isn’t that antithetical to dessert?”

“You can put chili in chocolate dishes,” he told her absently, watching as she stretched. She _was_ less fluffy. “I missed you.”

This time, her ears really did droop. She came closer and put her arms around him. He scritched her head in return. “I missed you too, Nick. It’s been a year, but sometimes I – when I can’t smell you – it’s hard to sleep. I’m afraid of waking up and being...you know. In a bad place. It’s irrational and probably not very fair to you, so take it or leave it, but-”

“The same thing used to happen to me,” he told her. He’d never expressed it, because he hadn’t even really thought about it concretely until now, but it was true. “The first...probably three years of being your partner, I’d wake up in the morning thinking everything was just a really nice dream. I’d expect to open my eyes and see the underside of a bridge. But I never did. It goes away. Or, well, it becomes less and less frequent. And if sleeping with you is unfair to me, I don’t want fairness.”

She smothered a laugh in his sternum. “We don’t _sleep together,_ we just...sleep. Together.”

Deep breath. In, out. He’d been thinking about this for a while, putting off the discussion for lots of reasons that in retrospect seemed really silly. “Maybe we should.”

Her head popped off his chest. “For real?”

He very lightly grazed the curve of her ear with the side of one of his eyeteeth, grinning at the shudder he got in response. For all that she was atypical in most of her life, some things were very, _very_ bunny. His teeth, she’d told him, felt better than a comb, and it made her feel powerful. “We’ve been teaching each other for a long time, but recently we’ve been going in different directions. It’s not a bad thing; in fact, it’s been really good for us. Still, it seems reasonable to do something new together every once in a while.”

Her smile lit up her face and she held out her paw. “Come dance with me, Nick.”

He rolled his eyes as the music started up again, but obediently followed her into the couch area anyway. Nick hadn’t ever expected life to turn out this way, and things weren’t perfect, but this moment could be. She liked dancing, and he liked her. Milestones and achievements were great, but it was the little things, the little moments and words, that made life precious. He closed his eyes and shook his hips in time with hers, and it felt like home.

_Me enamoré, me enananamoré..._


End file.
